150 
THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
The swallow is come ! 
The swallow is come ! 
O fair are the seasons, and light 
Are the days that she brings, 
With her dusky wings, 
And her bosom snowy white. 
And wilt thou not dole, 
From the wealth that is thine, 
The fig, and the bowl 
Of rosy wine. 
And the wheaten meal, and the basket of cheese, 
And the omelet cake, which is known to please 
The swallow, that comes to the Rhodian land ? 
Say, must we begone with an empty hand ; 
Or shall we receive 
The gift that we crave ? 
If you give, it is well ; 
But beware if you fail. 
Nor hope that we'll leave thee ; 
Of all we'll bereave thee. 
We'll bear off the door. 
Or the posts from the floor. 
Or v^^e'U seize thy young wife who is sitting within, 
Whose form is so airy, so light, and so thin, 
