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To the Cuckoo

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.


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.

Robert Burns.




Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!

Thou messenger of spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,

And woods thy welcome sing.


What time the daisy decks the green,

Thy certain voice we hear;
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,

Or mark the rolling year?


Delightful visitant! with thee
I hail the time of flowers,

And hear the sound of music sweet

From birds among the bowers.

I 2

The school-boy, wandering through the

To pull the primose gay,
Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear,

And imitates thy lay.


What time the pea puts on the bloom,

Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,

Another spring to hail.


Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No winter in thy year!


O, could I fly, I'd fly with thee!

We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the Spring.

John Logan.




O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard,

I hear thee and rejoice.
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird,

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.

I 2

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!

Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,

A voice, a mystery ;


The same whom in my school-boy days

I listened to; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways

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
An unsubstantial, faery place;

That is fit home for Thee! 1804. 1807.

William Wordsworth.



ETHEREAL minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou despise the earth where cares

Or while the wings aspire, are heart and eye

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;
A privacy of glorious light is thine,


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.

18 1827.

William Wordsworth..


I WANDER'd lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.


Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.


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

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