I watched her flight and knew her weak
Poor creature ! she was lost.
She knew not where her food to seek
And death lurked in the frost.

0 foolish swallow ! None can save
The bird that will not heed
The voice divine that nature gave
To meet her utmost need.

'Twas on a chill November day,
When, as I sallied forth,
I chanced to see a swallow play
Against the frowning North.

Her mates were in the sunny South,
I thought, what does she here?
And whence comes food to fill her mouth
In such a season drear?

Now here, now there, she fast did fly,
One moment she was near,
The next outlined against the sky,
Her motion full of fear.