To th' Swallow.

Bonny burd! aw'm fain to see thee,     For tha tells ov breeter weather;     But aw connot quite forgie thee, -     Connot love thee altogether.     'Tisn't thee aw fondly welcome -     'Tis the cheerin news tha brings,     Tellin us fine weather will come,     When we see thi dappled wings.     But aw'd rayther have a sparrow, -     Rayther hear a robin twitter; -     Tho' they may net be thi marrow,     May net fly wi' sich a glitter;     But they nivver leeav us, nivver -     Storms may come, but still they stay;     But th' first wind 'at ma's thee shivver,     Up tha mounts an flies away.     Ther's too monny like thee, swallow,     'At when fortun's sun shines breet,     Like a silly buzzard follow,     Doncin raand a bit o' leet.     But ther's few like Robin redbreast,     Cling throo days o' gloom an care;     Soa aw love mi old tried friends best -     Fickle hearts aw'll freely spare.