 | Songs of the Seasons |  |
139
TO THE SWALLOW.
I
Travel, travel, restless swallow!Travel over land and sea,
Tell thy story, wayward pilgrim!
Tell thy secret quest to me!
II
Why so restless and untiring—Ever on the glancing wing—
Darting, circling, shaping courses
Summer-ward beyond the Spring?
III
Hast thou some imprisoned yearningUrging to a distant goal—
Some strong instinct leading onward—
A desire beyond control;
IV
Only by the grosser medium,In a region of suspense,
Held back from its destined future
Round the throned Intelligence?
140
V
Hast thou such, and art a spiritTaking cognizance of things,
Doing errands under angels—
Pilot to their voyagings?
VI
From the Cabinet of MonarchsEgress hast thou, free, unfettered,
In the compass of a nutshell
Bearing with thee trusts unlettered—
VII
Cyphers telling on dominionsAnd the balancings of Power—
On the tasking of the Peoples,
On the shiftings of the hour?
VIII
Surely, not in idle questing,Swallow! are thy goings forth—
Surely, for some higher purpose
Are thy rangings South and North?
IX
Of thy travel o'er the oceanTell! It wilders me that thou,
No heed taking of provision,
Nor equipped, like merchant prow,
141
X
Can'st a thousand leagues accomplish,Helm thy way 'cross labouring seas,
Perforate the cloudy breast-works,
Measure distance with the breeze!
XI
Bold as are the Eagle's soarings,Swift as is the Eagle's pinion,
Keen as are his regal glances,
Taking in a broad dominion;
XII
Bolder, braver are thy ventures,Swifter, surer are thy wings,
And thy subtle vision reacheth
Past the thrones of many kings.
XIII
Once—it seems like yesterday—In a summer thunder-storm,
'Mid the rattling of the fire-bolts
I descried a cowering form
XIV
On the heights beyond Dalwhinnie,Pastured by the roving deer,
Where the haughty Monoleäds
Snows imprison all the year,
142
XV
I descried our boasted Eagle,Tyrant of the feathered race,
At confession, scared and trembling,
Seeking mercy in my face,
XVI
As if I were its dispenser,Could the frowning clouds dispart,
Re-assort his ruffled plumage
By an effort of the heart?
XVII
On a boulder drenched and shivering,In an agony of fear,
Within range of stalker's rifle,
Casting round his eye severe,
XVIII
Stood the Thunderer's attendantSeeking mercy in my face;
Thought I, Jove, the inflexible,
Holds his favourite in disgrace!
XIX
Then I thought of thee, dear swallow!When thou travellest abroad;
Of the perils which thou facest,
And the hazards in thy road!
143
XX
Of thy fragile form—so tiny,So unlike a daring thing—
Which had room for heart of purpose—
Willing and untiring wing.
XXI
In the scales of courage measured,Heedless of his high pretence,
To the fierce anointed Eagle
I give thee the preference!
XXII
To our windows, lo! thou comest—Buildest without ask or chiding,
Knowing thou art ever welcome
To a corner and a hiding.
XXIII
Thus, mayhap, at Heaven's own windowsThou dost spend thine other summer,
Having two homes where to hie to,
And to both the wished-for comer!
| Songs of the Seasons | |