128 SWALLOWS, BY C. J. MAYXAKI). 



SWALLOWS. 



BY 



C. J. MAYNARD. 



I stood on Cayman's lonely isle, 



On which the tropic sunbeams pour ; 



Where the wild waves of the Caribbean 

 Roll in thunder on the shore. 



When from o'er the deep blue ocean 

 Northward bound from southern climes, 



Came the swallows, softly twittering, 

 Reminding me of other times. 



Gone is all the tropic splendor, 

 Vanished is island, sea, and sky; 



For now I stand upon a hill-side 



O'er which the west winds softly sigh. 



Stand within the wide barn portals 

 Of my old New England home, 



List'ning to the swallows twittering, 

 As on rushing wings they come. 



And instead of spicy odors, 



Now I smell the new-mown hay, 



Lately piled upon the scaffolds 

 In the deep and spacious bay. 



Summer sunshine falls in patches 

 Through the branches of the trees : 



While just beyond are pastures broad, 

 Where many cattle graze at ease. 





