"Over the sea from the end of the wide world
I've come without wetting my feet, my feet, my feet,
Back to the old home, straight to the nest-home,
Under the brown thatch, oh sweet! oh sweet! oh sweet!

"When over the waters I flew in the autumn,
Then there was plenty of seed, of seed, of seed.
Women have winnow'd it, threshers have garner'd it,
Barns must be filled up indeed, indeed, indeed!

"Are you glad we have come with a flitter and twitter
Once more on the housetop to meet, to meet, to meet?
Make haste little primroses, cowslips, and daisies, we're
Longing your faces to greet, to greet, to greet!"

--_Trans._


"Yes, that's what you are singing. Good-bye," and waving her hand
towards them again, she turned her face to the boggy moor, picking her
way over the stepping-stones which led up to the dryer sheep paths.

The golden marsh marigolds glittered around her, the beautiful bog bean
hung its pinky white fringe over the brown peat pools, the silky plumes
of the cotton grass nodded at her as she passed, and the wind whispered
in the rushes the secrets of the sea.

Morva listened with a smile, a brown finger up-raised. "Yes, yes, I
know what you are singing too down there in the rushes, sweet west