The cattle lift their voices from the valleys and the hills,
And the feather'd race rejoices with a gush of tuneful bills,
And if this cloudless arch fills the poet's song with glee,
O thou sunny first of March! be it dedicate to thee.

INVOCATION TO THE CUCKOO.

O, PURSUIVANT and herald of the spring!

Whether thou still dost dwell

In some rose-laurel'd dell

Of that charm'd island, whose magician king

Bade all its rocks and caves,

Woods, winds, and waves,

Thrill to the dulcet chaunt of Ariel,

Until he broke the spell,

And cast his wand into the shuddering sea,—

O hither, hither fleet,

Upon the south wind sweet,

And soothe us with thy vernal melody!

Or whether to the redolent Azores,

Amid whose tufted sheaves

The floral goddess weaves

Her garland, breathing on the glades and shores

Intoxicating air,

Truant! thou dost repair;

Or lingerest still in that meridian nest,

Where myriad piping throats

Rival the warbler's notes,

The saffron namesakes of those islands blest,

O hither, hither wing

Thy flight, and to our longing woodlands sing.

Or in those sea-girt gardens dost thou dwell,

Of plantain, cocoa, palm,

And that red tree, whose balm

Fumed in the holocausts of Israel;

Beneath banana shades,

Guava, and fig-tree glades,

Painting thy plumage in the sapphirine hue

Thrown from the heron blue,

Or rays of the prismatic parroquet,—

O, let the perfumed breeze

From those Hesperides

Waft thee once more our eager ears to greet!

For lo! the young leaves flutter in the south,

As if they tried their wings,

While the bee's trumpet brings

News of each bud that pouts its honied mouth ;

Blue-bells, yellow-cups, jonquils,

Lilies wild and daffodils,

Gladden our meads in intertangled wreath;

The sun enamour'd lies,

Watching the violets' eyes

On every bank, and drinks their luscious breath;

With open lips the thorn

Proclaims that May is born,

And darest thou, bird of spring, that summons scorn?

"Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" O welcome, welcome notes!

Fields, woods, and waves rejoice

In that recover'd voice,

As on the wind its fluty music floats.

At that elixir strain

My youth resumes its reign,

And life's first spring comes blossoming again:

Oh, wond'rous bird! if thus

Thy voice miraculous

Can renovate my spirits' vernal prime,

Nor thou, my Muse, forbear

That ecstacy to share,—

I laugh at Fortune, and defy old Time.