Classic Poem

So hot shines the sun on the Nile's fertile shore,
The shade of the palms can protect us no more.
Then back to our home-land we fain would set forth,
Our squadrons assemble: “Away! to the north!”

And there far below like a grave to our view
We see the green earth and the ocean so blue,
Where storms and unrest never cease, but on high
As free as the clouds of the heavens we fly.

Far up mid the mountains a vale is outspread,
And there we alight and prepare us a bed.
Our eggs near the Pole then are laid every one,
And hatched in the light of the midnight sun.

No hunter may trouble the peace of our dale,
But gold-wingèd elves come to dance in that vale.
The green-mantled Wood Queen at eve wanders there,
And dwarfs' hammers ring from some deep mountain lair.

But winter soon stands on the summit once more
And flaps his white wings with a thunderous roar,
The hare's fur grows white too, the ash-berries glow,
Our squadrons assemble with: “South we must go!”

Then fields that are verdant, and waves that are hot,
And shade-giving palm-trees are dear to our thought.
We rest there awhile from our journey, and then
We long for our world in the northland again.