Now September days are near,
Thou to distant lands will fly,
In another hemisphere;
Other streams shall hear thy cry,
Other hills shall answer thee,
Swallow from beyond the sea!

Then shall I when daylight glows,
Waking to the sense of pain,
'Midst the wintry frosts and snows,
Think I hear thy notes again--
Notes that seem to grieve for me,
Swallow from beyond the sea!

Planted here upon the ground,
Thou shalt find a cross in spring;
There, as evening gathers 'round,
Swallow, come and rest thy wing.
Chant a strain of peace to me,
Swallow from beyond the sea!

_Vidette_, 1871.




MARTIAL, BOOK X

EPIGRAM 23