The
SWALLOWS
.
Written
September
,
1748.
By
the
Same
.
ERE
yellow
Autumn
from
our
plains
retir'd
,
And
gave
to
wintry
storms
the
varied
year
,
The
Swallow-race
,
with
foresight
clear
inspir'd
,
To
Southern
climes
prepar'd
their
course
to
steer
.
On
Damon's
roof
a
grave
assembly
sate
;
His
roof
,
a
refuge
to
the
feather'd
kind
;
With
serious
look
he
mark'd
the
nice
debate
,
And
to
his
Delia
thus
address'd
his
mind
.
Observe
yon
twitt'ring
flock
,
my
gentle
maid
,
Observe
,
and
read
the
wond'rous
ways
of
heav'n
!
With
us
thro'
summer's
genial
reign
they
stay'd
,
And
food
,
and
lodging
to
their
wants
were
giv'n
.
But
now
,
thro'
sacred
prescience
,
well
they
know
The
near
approach
of
elemental
strife
;
The
blustry
tempest
,
and
the
chilling
snow
,
With
ev'ry
want
,
and
scourge
of
tender
life
!
Thus
taught
,
they
meditate
a
speedy
slight
;
For
this
,
ev'n
now
they
prune
their
vig'rous
wing
;
For
this
,
consult
,
advise
,
prepare
,
excite
,
And
prove
their
strength
in
many
an
airy
ring
.
No
sorrow
loads
their
breast
,
or
swells
their
eye
,
To
quit
their
friendly
haunts
,
or
native
home
;
Nor
fear
they
,
launching
on
the
boundless
sky
,
In
search
of
future
settlements
,
to
roam
.
They
feel
a
pow'r
,
an
impulse
all
divine
!
That
warns
them
hence
;
they
feel
it
,
and
obey
;
To
this
direction
all
their
cares
resign
,
Unknown
their
destin'd
stage
,
unmark'd
their
way
!
Well
fare
your
flight
!
ye
mild
domestic
race
!
Oh
!
for
your
wings
to
travel
with
the
sun
!
Health
brace
your
nerves
,
and
Zephyrs
aid
your
pace
,
Till
your
long
voyage
happily
be
done
!
See
,
Delia
,
on
my
roof
your
guests
to-day
;
To-morrow
on
my
roof
your
guests
no
more
!
Ere
yet
'tis
night
,
with
haste
they
wing
away
,
To-morrow
lands
them
on
some
safer
shore
.
How
just
the
moral
in
this
scene
convey'd
!
And
what
without
a
moral
wou'd
we
read
?
Then
mark
what
Damon
tells
his
gentle
maid
,
And
with
his
lesson
register
the
deed
.
'Tis
thus
life's
chearful
seasons
roll
away
;
Thus
threats
the
winter
of
inclement
age
;
Our
time
of
action
but
a
summer's
day
;
And
earth's
frail
orb
the
sadly-varied
stage
!
And
does
no
pow'r
its
friendly
aid
dispense
,
Nor
give
us
tidings
of
some
happier
clime
?
Find
we
no
guide
in
gracious
Providence
Beyond
the
stroke
of
death
,
the
verge
of
time
!
Yes
,
yes
,
the
sacred
oracles
we
hear
,
That
point
the
path
to
realms
of
endless
day
:
That
bid
our
hearts
,
nor
death
,
nor
anguish
fear
,
This
future
transport
,
that
to
life
the
way
.
Then
let
us
timely
for
our
flight
prepare
,
And
form
the
soul
for
her
divine
abode
;
Obey
the
call
,
and
trust
the
Leader's
care
To
bring
us
safe
thro'
Virtue's
paths
to
God
.
Let
no
fond
love
for
earth
exact
a
sigh
,
No
doubts
divert
our
steddy
steps
aside
;
Nor
let
us
long
to
live
,
nor
dread
to
die
;
Heav'n
is
our
Hope
,
and
Providence
our
Guide
.
PART
II
.
Written
April
,
1749.
AT
length
the
winter's
surly
blasts
are
o'er
;
Array'd
in
smiles
the
lovely
spring
returns
:
Health
to
the
breeze
unbars
the
screaming
door
,
And
ev'ry
breast
with
heat
celestial
burns
.
Again
the
daises
peep
,
the
violets
blow
,
Again
the
tenants
of
the
leafy
grove
Forgot
the
patt'ring
hail
,
the
driving
snow
,
Resume
the
lay
to
melody
and
love
.
And
see
,
my
Delia
,
see
o'er
yonder
stream
,
Where
on
the
sunny
bank
the
lambkins
play
,
Alike
attracted
to
th'
enliv'ning
gleam
,
The
stranger-swallows
take
their
wonted
way
.
Welcome
,
ye
gentle
tribe
,
your
sports
pursue
,
Welcome
again
to
Delia
,
and
to
me
:
Your
peaceful
councils
on
my
roof
renew
,
And
plan
your
settlements
from
danger
free
.
No
tempest
on
my
shed
its
fury
pours
,
My
frugal
hearth
no
noxious
blast
supplies
;
Go
,
wand'rers
,
go
,
repair
your
sooty
bow'rs
,
Think
,
on
no
hostile
roof
my
chimnies
rise
.
Again
I'll
listen
to
your
grave
debates
,
I'll
think
I
hear
your
various
maxims
told
,
Your
numbers
,
leaders
,
policies
,
and
states
,
Your
limits
settled
,
and
your
tribes
enroll'd
.
I'll
think
I
hear
you
tell
of
distant
lands
,
What
insect-nations
rise
from
Egypt's
mud
,
What
painted
swarms
subsist
on
Lybia's
sands
,
What
mild
Euphrates
yields
,
and
Ganges'
flood
.
Thrice
happy
race
!
whom
Nature's
call
invites
To
travel
o'er
her
realms
with
active
wing
,
To
taste
her
choicest
stores
,
her
best
delights
,
The
summer's
radiance
,
and
the
sweets
of
spring
.
While
we
are
doom'd
to
bear
the
restless
change
Of
shifting
seasons
,
vapours
dank
,
or
dry
,
Forbid
,
like
you
,
to
milder
climes
to
range
,
When
wintry
clouds
deform
the
troubled
sky
.
But
know
the
period
to
your
joys
assign'd
!
Know
ruin
hovers
o'er
this
earthly
ball
;
Certain
as
fate
,
and
sudden
as
the
wind
,
Its
secret
adamantine
props
shall
fall
.
Yet
when
your
short-liv'd
summers
shine
no
more
,
My
patient
mind
,
sworn
foe
to
vice's
way
,
Sustain'd
on
lighter
wings
than
yours
shall
soar
To
fairer
realms
beneath
a
brighter
ray
.
To
plains
etherial
,
and
Elysian
bowers
,
Where
wintry
storms
no
rude
access
obtain
,
Where
blasts
no
light'ning
,
and
no
thunder
low'rs
,
But
spring
,
and
joy
unchang'd
for
ever
reign
.