They take with them a wooden swallow which they spin round and round to the song:
The swallow speeds her flight
O'er the sea-foam white,
And then a-singing she doth slake her wing.
"March, march, my delight,
And February wan and wet.
For all thy snow and rain thou yet
Hast a perfume of the spring."
Or perhaps to the following variant, given by Mr. Lewis Sergeant in New Greece:—
She is here, she is here,
The swallow that brings us the beautiful year;
Open wide the door.
We are children again, we are old no more.
These little swallow-songs are worth the attention of the Folk-Lore student, since they are of a greater antiquity than can be proved on written evidence in the case, so far as we know, of any other folk-song still current. More than two thousand years ago they existed in the form quoted from Theognis by Athenæus as "an excellent song sung by the children of Rhodes."
The swallow comes! She comes, she brings
Glad days and hours upon her wings.
See on her back
Her plumes are black.
But all below
As white as snow.
Then from your well-stored house with haste.
Bring sweet cakes of dainty taste,
Bring a flagon full of wine,
Wheaten meal bring, white and fine;
And a platter load with cheese,
Eggs and porridge add—for these
Will the swallow not decline.
Now shall we go, or gifts receive!
Give, or ne'er your house we leave,
Till we the door or lintel break,
Or your little wife we take;
She so light, small toil will make.
But whate'er ye bring us forth,
Let the gift be one of worth.
Ope, ope your door, to greet the swallow then,
For we are only boys, not bearded men.
