ODE TO THE CUCKOO.

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Thou wilt know that the depth of a mother's love
Is wondrous and strange as that star above.

Though she may be numbered with the dead,
Whose hand now rests on thy shining head,
Her spirit shall look from the land afar,
And yet seem near thee like that bright star."

H. B.

ODE TO THE CUCKOO.

HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove!
Thou messenger of Spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome sing.

What time 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 the new voice of Spring to hear,

And imitates thy lay.

What time the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fliest thy vocal vale;

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FATHER WILLIAM.

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,
Companions of the Spring.

LOGAN.

FATHER WILLIAM.

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried,

"The few locks which are left you are grey; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man ; Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remembered that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigour at first, That I never might need them at last."

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried,

"And pleasures with youth pass away; And yet you lament not the days that are gone; Now tell me the reason, I pray."

LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG.

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"In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remember'd that youth could not last; I thought of the future whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past."

"You are old, Father William," the young man "And life must be hastening away; [cried, You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death; Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"I am cheerful, young man," Father William re"Let the cause thy attention engage; [plied, In the days of my youth I remember'd my God, And He hath not forgotten my age."

SOUTHEY.

LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG.

THE spearman heard the bugle sound,
And cheerly smil'd the morn;
And many a brach1 and many a hound
Attend Llewellyn's horn.

And still he blew a louder blast,

And gave a louder cheer,—

Come, Gelert, why art thou the last
Llewellyn's horn to hear?

Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam,
The flower of all his race?

So true, so brave—a lamb at home,
A lion in the chase!"

1 A species of dog which hunts by scent.

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LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG.

That day Llewellyn little loved

The chase of hart or hare;

And scant and small the booty proved,
For Gelert was not there.

Unpleas'd Llewellyn homeward hied,
When, near the portal-seat,
His truant Gelert he espied,
Bounding his lord to greet.

But when he gain'd the castle-door,
Aghast the chieftain stood;

The hound was smear'd with gouts of
His lips and fangs ran blood!

Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise,
Unused such looks to meet;
His favourite check'd his joyful guise,
And crouch'd and lick'd his feet.

Onward in haste Llewellyn pass'd,
(And on went Gelert too),
And still where'er his eyes were cast,
Fresh blood-gouts shock'd his view!

O'erturned his infant's bed he found,
The blood-stain'd cover rent;
And all around the walls and ground
With recent blood besprent.

He call'd his child-no voice replied;
He search'd with terror wild:
Blood! blood! he found on ev'ry side,
But nowhere found the child!

gore,

LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG.

"Hell-hound! by thee my child's devour'd!"

The frantic father cried;

And to the hilt his vengeful sword

He plunged in Gelert's side!

His suppliant, as to earth he fell,
No pity could impart ;
But still his Gelert's dying yell
Pass'd heavy o'er his heart.

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell,
Some slumberer waken'd nigh:
What words the parent's joy can tell
To hear his infant cry!

Conceal'd beneath a mangled heap,
His hurried search had miss'd,
All glowing from his rosy sleep,
His cherub boy he kiss'd!

Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread:
But the same couch beneath

Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead—
Tremendous still in death!

Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain!
For now the truth was clear-
The gallant hound the wolf had slain,
To save Llewellyn's heir.

Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe :
"Best of thy kind, adieu!

The frantic deed which laid thee low
This heart shall ever rue."

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