 | Julian Fane, Ad matrem |  |
32
IX.
[Oh, swallow, swallow, flying from the North]
Oh, swallow, swallow, flying from the North
With eager wings that fan the winnowed air,
Wend swift thy flight towards a fairer clime;
Behind thee lie the fields of endless ice,
Before thee summer and the flowering vales.
With eager wings that fan the winnowed air,
Wend swift thy flight towards a fairer clime;
Behind thee lie the fields of endless ice,
Before thee summer and the flowering vales.
Thy birdlike nature, capable of joy,
Feels, with delight how great, the tepid breeze
That bears a perfume of the fragrant South;
The sweet and sunny South where thou wast born,
And where long since thy happy home is made.
Feels, with delight how great, the tepid breeze
That bears a perfume of the fragrant South;
The sweet and sunny South where thou wast born,
And where long since thy happy home is made.
Home! ah! thou restless wanderer of the air,
Once more thou comest to the far off fields
That knew thy earliest chirp, that lodged thee long
Amongst the leafage of their murmuring trees;
Thrice blessed, thou know'st the joy of a return!
Once more thou comest to the far off fields
That knew thy earliest chirp, that lodged thee long
Amongst the leafage of their murmuring trees;
Thrice blessed, thou know'st the joy of a return!
And I participate thy joy. I too,
Swift from the kingdoms of the giant Frost
Who sits a tyrant on the snow-capped hills
And rules the ice-bound plains and has struck dead
The mute and motionless sea—I too am come.
Swift from the kingdoms of the giant Frost
Who sits a tyrant on the snow-capped hills
And rules the ice-bound plains and has struck dead
The mute and motionless sea—I too am come.
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I too, athwart the storms of driving snow
Wherewith the savage Genius of the North
Pursued me, saw the land of home arise,
Saw the dark coast of England, long desired,
And the white welcome of her laughing cliffs.
Wherewith the savage Genius of the North
Pursued me, saw the land of home arise,
Saw the dark coast of England, long desired,
And the white welcome of her laughing cliffs.
Wherefore with thee, thou Prodigal returned,
With thee, wild vagrant, doth my heart rejoice,
And all my soul grows merry at thy chirp;
Thy long-lost fields possess thee once again,
And I once more am with the souls I love.
With thee, wild vagrant, doth my heart rejoice,
And all my soul grows merry at thy chirp;
Thy long-lost fields possess thee once again,
And I once more am with the souls I love.
Oh, dear, sweet Soul, to whom my heart is bound,
The swallow flies with joy towards the South,
Thou art my South, and unto thee I fly;
Arrived in time to nestle in thy breast,
And chirp my blessing on thy natal day.
The swallow flies with joy towards the South,
Thou art my South, and unto thee I fly;
Arrived in time to nestle in thy breast,
And chirp my blessing on thy natal day.
There sits an Angel at the gates of heaven,
Who watches o'er the course of mortal love,
And blesses all pure passions upon earth;
He smiles when two true loving souls unite,
And He to-day is glad that we are met.
Who watches o'er the course of mortal love,
And blesses all pure passions upon earth;
He smiles when two true loving souls unite,
And He to-day is glad that we are met.
Is it because the joy of seeing thee
Absorbs all words, and in itself sums up
All thought of which my soul is capable,
That I this day can scarcely brook to write
My speechless happiness in measured words?
Absorbs all words, and in itself sums up
All thought of which my soul is capable,
That I this day can scarcely brook to write
My speechless happiness in measured words?
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In words unmeasured let me pour it out
And clasp thee to my breast, and in thy ear
Tell out the fulness of an o'ercharged heart.
I love thee, best and brightest; oh! my Saint,
The impotence of language wrongs my love.
And clasp thee to my breast, and in thy ear
Tell out the fulness of an o'ercharged heart.
I love thee, best and brightest; oh! my Saint,
The impotence of language wrongs my love.
Thou art so tender, beautiful, and true,
So pure in thought, so spotless in desire,
So peerless in thy perfect womanhood,
That all weak words fall short to tell thy praise;
Thy praise, my Angel, reaching beyond words.
So pure in thought, so spotless in desire,
So peerless in thy perfect womanhood,
That all weak words fall short to tell thy praise;
Thy praise, my Angel, reaching beyond words.
Glad be the sunrise on thy natal day,
Loud be the chaunt of birds, and sweet the breeze
With perfumes of the earliest flowers of Spring;
I too am here, my heart is glad, my voice
Sings loudly, and my love bursts out in bloom.
Loud be the chaunt of birds, and sweet the breeze
With perfumes of the earliest flowers of Spring;
I too am here, my heart is glad, my voice
Sings loudly, and my love bursts out in bloom.
My heart is glad, for thou this day wast born,
My voice its merriest canticle sings out,
And into blossom flowers all my love.
Accept, dear Soul, the feeble song and flower
That draw from thee their sweetness and their sound.
My voice its merriest canticle sings out,
And into blossom flowers all my love.
Accept, dear Soul, the feeble song and flower
That draw from thee their sweetness and their sound.
March 13th, 1857
| Julian Fane, Ad matrem | |