The song "She's Like the Swallow" was first collected in 1930 by the British folksong collector Maud Karpeles. The tune was so beautiful, Miss Karpeles felt it must have come from Britian, but today, we recognise "She's like the Swallow" as a Newfoundland folksong. No one really knows who wrote this song or why. In To Dance at the Palais Royale, I created a story to explain these things. Here are the lyrics from my memory. If you don't know the tune, you can download a midi version from Lesley Nelson's page She's Like the Swallow.

She's Like the Swallow

She's like the swallow that flies so high,
She's like the river that never runs dry,
She's like the sun that shines on the lee shore
She loves her love, but love is no more.

T'was down in the meadow this fair maid went
A-plucking the roses just as she went,
The more she plucked and the more she pulled
Until she'd gathered her apron full.

She climbed on yonder hill above
To give the roses unto her love
She gave him one, she gave him three
She gave him her heart for company.

How foolish, foolish you must be,
To think I loves no one but thee.
The world's not made for one alone,
I takes delight in everyone.

It's of those roses she made a bed,
A stony pillow unto her head,
Now this fair maid, no word did she say,
Until her very dying day.

There is a man on yonder hill
He's living there and living still
He's got a heart as hard as stone,
He's got two hearts instead of one.

She's like the swallow that flies so high,
She's like the river that never runs dry,
She's like the sun that shines on the lee shore
She loves her love, but love is no more.