University of Virginia Library

Over city, and village, and spire,
Over streets that look like streaks of fire,
With all their blazing lines of gas,
Over vast pathless swamps we pass;
Over the mountains, over the sea,
Through rain and sunshine, away go we.
No matter whether 'tis dark or light,
We fly by day, we fly by night.
The sea may roar, the wind may blow,
We can fly high, or we can fly low.
Sometimes when earth doth clouded lie,
We're soaring above in a sunny sky;
Sometimes through earth when wild winds roar,
We high above in calm air soar;
High above, in a sky as blue
As ever Summer overhead threw.
And when aloft the black clouds frown,
We find it clearer lower down,
And so go on our way together,
Dodging the wind and watching the weather.
There's nothing to run against in the sky,
No stoppage nor toll-gate where we fly.
You may boast about liberty,
Would you enjoy it, fly with me;
Look at the space spread every way,
Broad and open as the day.
Millions of miles around the earth,
Where Morn and Evening have birth,
We in our upward flight descry,
And thitherward we often fly;
Space beyond space we trembling see,
Still stretching out eternally.

I in green England love to build,
Where the sun my nest doth gild;
“Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great sun begins his state:”
There, far from the way of harm,
I build my nest, so snug and warm,
By the window, or under the eaves,
When Spring shoots out her first green leaves.
I plaster with my beak and breast—
No one helps me to build my nest.
I mix my mortar, carry it too,
For I have everything to do.
I have no scaffold on which to stand,
Haven't a trowel, haven't a hand;
With my claws I cling to the wall,
For if I didn't I should fall;
So I can't work with them at all.
Though my tail's very useful indeed,
When I press it down, so it had need.
At dawn of day my work I begin;
And plaster away with my breast and chin;
You may see my head move to and fro;
But not too much at a time I do;
I build about a good half inch—
I could do twice as much at a pinch;
For, you see, if I build too high,
And it didn't quickly dry,
There would be a terrible fall—
Down would come nest, and mud, and all;
And if it were in the street of a town,
Fetch some fellow a crack on the crown.
Then he would look up and hallo,
And say, “You're a nice sort of a Swallow,
To throw your dirt at me that way.”
So I build half an inch and then go play,
And leave it to dry until the next day.
Next morning I begin again,
Unless it should chance to rain;
Then I can't get on at all,
My work won't stick against the wall;
So I fly about river, town, and spire,
And wait until the weather is drier.
If every day I build up a row,
At the week's end I make a good show;
But right well my work I do.
This hint may be of use to you:
Do nothing slovenly nor ill;
Better be idle and sit still.
If you ask “Why?” the reason's plain,
Some one must do it over again.
Not to be careful is a sin!
Fancy my nest and young ones in,
And the whole lot to tumble down
On the hard pavement of the town,
And all because 'twas badly built!
On me alone would rest the guilt.
To think of such a thing is awful,
To do it would indeed be woful.
But let us talk of something else.

Often at night I poke out my head,
And watch the dear children put to bed,
Saying their prayers, all in a row,
And think my little ones may do so:
Stand all in a row and twitter His praise
Who to man and bird His goodness displays.
I know they will twitter on the eaves
When Summer is clad in her longest leaves;
That He will help when help is needed,
Who's promised “not one shall fall unheeded,”
Though but a poor Swallow, “upon the ground.”
And in this knowledge I've comfort found,
When winging my way o'er the pathless sea,
Knowing His eye was fixed on me;
Knowing that He who watches on high,
Will guard my young ones when they fly;
That there's no object, however small,
But what He guards who seeth us all.

When Autumn comes, in thousands we meet,
And keep up for days a twitter tweet tweet,
Where willows do give a silver shiver,
When stirred by the wind beside the river;
Where marshes spread out and banks rise in ridges,
And under and round the arches of bridges,
There do we in thousands assemble,
Making the branches we 'light on tremble,
And keeping up such a continual chatter,
That people turn round to see what's the matter.
Let a fair wind come, and away go we,
Over the mountains, over the sea,
To a land where the sun doth brightly shine.
But I say to those little Swallows of mine,
“The land where I reared you is dearer than all,”
And I teach them green England their home to call.
And we pine and sigh till the flowery Spring
Doth us backward again to dear England bring,
In our old haunts to build and sing.
I've no more to say;
The wind changed to-day,
So over the sea I must away.