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The Attic warbler pours her throat Responsive to the cuckoo's note.

And now I hear its voice again, And still its message is of peace, It sings of love that will not cease, For me it never sings in vain.

Oh, 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.

Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year.

At land indeed Thou dost o'ercount me of my father's house: But since the cuckoo builds not for himself, Remain in't as thou mayst.

And, being fed by us, you used us so As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, Useth the sparrow--did oppress our nest; . . .

When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men: for thus sings he, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo: O, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear!

The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring, His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded.

While I deduce, From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings, The symphony of spring.

List--'twas the cuckoo--O, with what delight Heard I that voice! and catch it now, though faint, Far off and faint, and melting into air, Yet not to be mistaken. Hark again! Those louder cries give notice that the bird, Although invisible as Echo's self, Is wheeling hitherward.

O blithe New-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice; O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice?