University of Virginia Library

The Swallow. ANACREONTICK.

The Swallow does her Flight prepare,
And takes her Progress with the Year:
She basks here all the Summer long,
Here builds her Nest, and breeds her Young.
But when the weeping Heav'ns presage
Th'approaching Season's stormy Rage,
She with the Old Year wings her Way
To Regions of unshaded Day;
Then with the New returns again,
And brings the Spring back in her Train.
Ah! gentle Bird! to what Excess
Shou'd I arrive of Happiness,
Wou'd Love as reasonable be,
And yearly come, and go like thee.
But Love is my Eternal Guest,
And builds for ever in my Breast.
The Mother-Love, that brooding sits,
A Thousand little Loves begets:
Here some excluded Half we see,
One Part imprison'd, one Part free;
And struggling in the doubtful Strife,
Peep thro' the Egg, just into Life;
While others in Confinement dwell,
Expecting it within the Shell:
Where in Out-Lines is scarce descry'd
The Form but rudely signify'd.
One feather'd softly warbling sings,
And Perching prunes its painted Wings:
Some Chirping in the warm Nest lie,
And make a num'rous Harmony;
So that you'd take my Heart to be
A little speaking Aviary.
And when the wanton, callow Brood
Greedily crave, and gape for Food,
The Old one feeds 'em with my Blood;
And some she feeds with Hopes, and Fears,
And some with Sighs, and some with Tears:
These growing up, supply their Place
Still with a new, and younger Race.
How many Loves have I in Store?
Ten Thousand Loves at least, and more:
So infinite is the Account,
They to such endless Sums amount,
Arithmetick can ne're express
Them all; they are so numberless.