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To the Cuckoo
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with
snow; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring
floods ! My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not
here, My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer: A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart 's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
TO THE CUCKOO
Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!
Thou messenger of spring!
And woods thy welcome sing.
What time the daisy decks the green,
Thy certain voice we hear;
Or mark the rolling year?
Delightful visitant! with thee
And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds among the bowers.
The school-boy, wandering through the
And imitates thy lay.
What time the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
Another spring to hail.
Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear;
No winter in thy year!
O, could I fly, I'd fly with thee!
We'd make, with joyful wing,
TO THE CUCKOO
O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice.
Or but a wandering Voice ?
To the Cuckoo
While I am lying on the grass
Thy twofold shout I hear, From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off, and near.
Though babbling only to the Vale,
Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.
Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!
Even yet thou art to me
A voice, a mystery ;
The same whom in my school-boy days
I listened to; that Cry
In bush, and tree, and sky.
To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green ; And thou were still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen.
And I can listen to thee yet ;
Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again.
O blessed bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
That is fit home for Thee! 1804. 1807.
TO THE SKYLARK
ETHEREAL minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music
[To the last point of vision, and beyond Mount, daring warbler !--that love-prompted
strain —'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain: Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to
sing All independent of the leafy Spring.)
Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine; Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam; True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home.
I WANDER'd lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
Along the margin of a bay:
The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company : I gazed-and gazed-but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought : 18