TO THE CUCKOO. O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard, O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, While I am lying on the grass, At once far off and near! I hear thee babbling to the vale Of sunshine and of flowers; And unto me thou bring'st a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery; The same who in my schoolboy 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 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, fairy place; That is fit home for thee! WORDSWORTH. It is not only in the sacred fane That homage should be paid to the Most High; GRAHAME. RUTH. BENEATH her father's roof, alone She seemed to live; her thoughts her own; Herself her own delight: Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay, She passed her time; and in this way There came a youth from Georgia's shore A military casque he wore, With splendid feathers drest; He brought them from the Cherokees; Among the Indians he had fought, Of pleasure and of fear; Such tales as told to any maid By such a Youth, in the green shade, Were perilous to hear. And then he said, "How sweet it were A fisher or a hunter there, A gardener in the shade, Still wandering with an easy mind, To build a household fire, and find "Sweet Ruth! and could you go with me Our shed at night to rear; |