POETRY
... SWALLOWS. Now, o'er the harvest meadows green Their arrow-headed forms are seen; Now, o'er the pool they skim, As if they wished to dive below, To those far-sinking skies which glow Down through the waters dim. With skilful wings their white breasts lave, And oft the smooth translucent wave, Records the daring feat; Until they shyly dart away To where the severminig insects play, In some calm ...