THE CUCKOO.

HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove!

Thou messenger of spring!
Now heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome sing.

Soon as 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.

The schoolboy, wandering through the wood

To pull the primrose gay,
Starts thy most curious voice 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!

Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee!
We'd make with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Attendants on the spring.

said,

That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread

That have their root in thoughts of

ill:

Whatever hinders or impedes The action of the nobler will;

shame!

All common things, each day's

events,

That with the hour begin and end, Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend.

The low desire, the base design.
That makes another's virtues less:
The revel of the ruddy wine,

And all occasions of excess:

The longing for ignoble things: The strife for triumph more than truth;

The hardening of the heart, that brings

Irreverence for the dreams of youth;

down Beneath our feet, if we would gain In the bright fields of fair renown The right of eminent domain.

We have not wings, we cannot soar; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time.

The mighty pyramids of stone That wedge-like cleave the desert airs,

When nearer seen, and better known, Are but gigantic flights of stairs.

The distant mountains, that uprear Their solid bastions to the skies, Are crossed by pathways, that appear As we to higher levels rise.