Swallow , that on rapid wing
Sweep'st along in sportive ring,
Now here, now there, now low, now high,
Chasing keen the painted fly—
Could I skim away with thee
Over land and over sea,
What streams would flow, what cities rise,
What landscapes dance before mine eyes!
First from England's southern shore
'Cross the channel we would soar,
And our vent'rous course advance
To the lively plains of France;
Sport among the feathered choir
On the verdant banks of Loire,
Skim Garonne's majestic tide,
Where Bordeaux adorns his side;
Cross the towering Pyrenees,
'Mid orange groves and myrtle trees;
Entering then the wild domain
Where wolves prowl round the flocks of Spain,
Where silkworms spin, and olives grow,
And mules plod surely on and slow.
Steering then for many a day
Far to south our course away,
From Gibraltar's rocky steep
Dashing o'er the foaming deep,
On sultry Afric's fruitful shore
We'd rest at length, our journey o'er,
Till vernal gales should gently play
To waft us on our homeward way.