TO THE CUCKOO.

O BLITHE new-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee, and rejoice:

O cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
Or but a wandering voice?

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

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 wert 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, fairy place
That is fit home for thee!

A MEMORY.

THREE years she grew in sun and shower;
Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown:
This child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A lady of my own.

"Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse; and with me
The girl, in rock and plain,

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power

To kindle or restrain.

'She shall be sportive as the fawn, That wild with glee across the lawn

Or up the mountain springs; And hers shall be the breathing balm, And hers the silence and the calm, Of mute insensate things.

"The floating clouds their state shall lend

To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see

E'en in the motions of the storm
Grace that shall mould the maiden's form
By silent sympathy.

"The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place,
Where rivulets dance their wayward
round,

And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.

"And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,

Her virgin bosom swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live

Here in this happy dell."

Thus Nature spake. The work was doneHow soon my Lucy's race was run!

She died, and left to me

This heath, this calm and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,
And nevermore will be.

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.

SHE was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A spirit, yet a woman too!

Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;

A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;

A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food,
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and

smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect woman, nokly planned
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel light.

YARROW UNVISITED.

FROM Stirling Castle we had seen
The mazy Forth unravelled;
Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay,
And with the Tweed had travelled;
And when we came to Clovenford,

Then said my "winsome Marrow," "Whate'er betide, we 'll turn aside, And see the Braes of Yarrow."

"Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town,
Who have been buying, selling,
Go back to Yarrow, 't is their own,
Each maiden to her dwelling!
On Yarrow's banks let herons feed,

Hares couch, and rabbits burrow!
But we will downward with the Tweed,

Nor turn aside to Yarrow.

"There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, Both lying right before us;

101

"O, green," said I, "are Yarrow's holms,

And sweet is Yarrow flowing!
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,
But we will leave it growing.
O'er hilly path and open strath
We'll wander Scotland thorough;
But, though so near, we will not turn
Into the dale of Yarrow.

"Let beeves and home-bred kine partake

The sweets of Burn Mill meadow; The swan on still Saint Mary's Lake

Float double, swan and shadow! We will not see them; will not go . To-day, nor yet to-morrow; Enough if in our hearts we know There's such a place as Yarrow.

"Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! It must, or we shall rue it : We have a vision of our own;

Ah! why should we undo it? The treasured dreams of times long past, We'll keep them, winsome Marrow! For when we're there, although 't is fair, 'T will be another Yarrow!

"If care with freezing years should come,
And wandering seem but folly,
Should we be loath to stir from home,
And yet be melancholy;
Should life be dull, and spirits low,

"T will soothe us in our sorrow That earth has something yet to show, The bonny holms of Yarrow!"

no sleep,

No mood, which season takes away, or

brings:

I could have fancied that the mighty Deep

Was even the gentlest of all gentle things.

Ah! then if mine had been the painter's hand

To express what then I saw; and add

the gleam,

The light that never was on sea or land, The consecration, and the poet's dream,

I would have planted thee, thou hoary pile,

Amid a world how different from this!
Beside a sea that could not cease to smile;
On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss.

A picture had it been of lasting ease,
Elysian quiet, without toil or strife;
No motion but the moving tide, a breeze;
Or merely silent Nature's breathing life.

Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, Such picture would I at that time have made;

And seen the soul of truth in every part, A steadfast peace that might not be

betrayed.

swell,

This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear!

And this huge castle, standing here sublime,

I love to see the look with which it

braves

Cased in the unfeeling armor of old time

The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves.

Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone,

Housed in a dream, at distance from the kind!

Such happiness, wherever it be known, Is to be pitied; for 't is surely blind.

But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, And frequent sights of what is to be borne!

Such sights, or worse, as are before me here:

Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

ODE TO DUTY.

more;

I have submitted to a new control: A power is gone, which nothing can restore;

A deep distress hath humanized my soul.

Not for a moment could I now behold
A smiling sea, and be what I have been:
The feeling of my loss will ne'er be
old;

This, which I know, I speak with mind

serene.

Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the friend,

If he had lived, of him whom I deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend;

This sea in anger, and that dismal shore.

O, 't is a passionate work!-yet wise and well,

Well chosen is the spirit that is here;

To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe,
From vain temptations dost set free,
And calm'st the weary strife of frail hu-
manity!

There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
May joy be theirs while life shall last!
And thou, if they should totter, teach
them to stand fast!

Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And blest are they who in the main
This faith, even now, do entertain: