To the Cuckoo

Source

Source: Project Gutenberg #8774 / #8824 Source URL: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8774 Public domain basis: Wordsworth, Poems, in Two Volumes (London: Longman, 1807), PG #8774/#8824. US public domain. Coverage: Complete individual poem extracted from parent edition poems-in-two-volumes at bytes 113778-121778; checksum d177381d3d7ef637ebadf8ac853c7e4e5ea6cd04dc618363a6b8107f1569cbd7.

# To the Cuckoo

To the Cuckoo

11. 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, I hear thy restless shout: From hill to hill it seems to pass, About, and all about!

To me, no Babbler with a tale Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou tellest, Cuckoo! in the vale 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 listen'd 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 long'd 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, faery place; That is fit home for Thee!

12. TO A BUTTERFLY.

I've watch'd you now a full half hour, Self-pois'd upon that yellow flower; And, little Butterfly! indeed I know not if you sleep, or feed. How motionless! not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!

This plot of Orchard-ground is ours; My trees they are, my Sister's flowers; Stop here whenever you are weary, And rest as in a sanctuary! Come often to us, fear no wrong; Sit near us on the bough! We'll talk of sunshine and of song; And summer days, when we were young, Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now!

13.

It is no Spirit who from Heaven hath flown, And is descending on his embassy; Nor Traveller gone from Earth the Heavens to espy! 'Tis Hesperus--there he stands with glittering crown, First admonition that the sun is down! For yet it is broad day-light: clouds pass by; A few are near him still--and now the sky, He hath it to himself--'tis all his own. O most ambitious Star! an inquest wrought Within me when I recognised thy light; A moment I was startled at the sight: And, while I gazed, there came to me a thought That I might step beyond my natural race As thou seem'st now to do; might one day trace Some ground not mine; and, strong her strength above, My Soul, an Apparition in the place, Tread there, with steps that no one shall reprove!

THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY; WITH OTHER POEMS.

THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY. (A Tale told by the Fire-side.)

Now we are tired of boisterous joy, We've romp'd enough, my little Boy! Jane hangs her head upon my breast, And you shall bring your Stool and rest, This corner is your own.

There! take your seat, and let me see That you can listen quietly; And as I promised I will tell That strange adventure which befel A poor blind Highland Boy.

A Highland Boy!--why call him so? Because, my Darlings, ye must know, In land where many a mountain towers, Far higher hills than these of ours! He from his birth had liv'd.

He ne'er had seen one earthly sight; The sun, the day; the stars, the night; Or tree, or butterfly, or flower, Or fish in stream, or bird in bower, Or woman, man, or child.

And yet he neither drooped nor pined, Nor had a melancholy mind; For God took pity on the Boy, And was his friend; and gave him joy Of which we nothing know.

His Mother, too, no doubt, above Her other Children him did love: For, was she here, or was she there, She thought of him with constant care, And more than Mother's love.

And proud she was of heart, when clad In crimson stockings, tartan plaid, And bonnet with a feather gay, To Kirk he on the sabbath day Went hand in hand with her.

A Dog, too, had he; not for need, But one to play with and to feed; Which would have led him, if bereft Of company or friends, and left Without a better guide.

And then the bagpipes he could blow; And thus from house to house would go, And all were pleas'd to hear and see; For none made sweeter melody Than did the poor blind Boy.

Yet he had many a restless dream; Both when he heard the Eagles scream, And when he heard the torrents roar, And heard the water beat the shore Near which their Cottage stood.

Beside a lake their Cottage stood, Not small like ours, a peaceful flood; But one of mighty size, and strange; That, rough or smooth, is full of change, And stirring in its bed.

For to this Lake, by night and day, The great Sea-water finds its way Through long, long windings of the hills; And drinks up all the pretty rills And rivers large and strong:

Then hurries back the road it came-- Returns, on errand still the same; This did it when the earth was new; And this for evermore will do, As long as earth shall last.

And, with the coming of the Tide, Come Boats and Ships, that sweetly ride, Between the woods and lofty rocks; And to the Shepherds with their Flocks Bring tales of distant Lands.

And of those tales, whate'er they were, The blind Boy always had his share; Whether of mighty Towns, or Vales With warmer suns and softer gales, Or wonders of the Deep.

Yet more it pleased him, more it stirr'd, When from the water-side he heard The shouting, and the jolly cheers, The bustle of the mariners In stillness or in storm.

But what do his desires avail? For He must never handle sail; Nor mount the mast, nor row, nor float In Sailor's ship or Fisher's boat Upon the rocking waves.

His Mother often thought, and said, What sin would be upon her head If she should suffer this: "My Son, Whate'er you do, leave this undone; The danger is so great."

Thus lived he by Loch Levin's side Still sounding with the sounding tide, And heard the billows leap and dance, Without a shadow of mischance, Till he was ten years old.

When one day (and now mark me well, You soon shall know how this befel) He's in a vessel of his own, On the swift water hurrying down Towards the mighty Sea.

In such a vessel ne'er before Did human Creature leave the shore: If this or that way he should stir, Woe to the poor blind Mariner! For death will be his doom.

Strong is the current; but be mild, Ye waves, and spare the helpless Child! If ye in anger fret or chafe, A Bee-hive would be ship as safe As that in which he sails.

But say, what was it? Thought of fear! Well may ye tremble when ye hear! --A Household Tub, like one of those Which women use to wash their clothes, This carried the blind Boy.

Close to the water he had found This Vessel, push'd it from dry ground, Went into it; and, without dread, Following the fancies in his head, He paddled up and down.

A while he stood upon his feet; He felt the motion--took his seat; And dallied thus, till from the shore The tide retreating more and more Had suck'd, and suck'd him in.

And there he is in face of Heaven! How rapidly the Child is driven! The fourth part of a mile I ween He thus had gone, ere he was seen By any human eye.

But when he was first seen, oh me! What shrieking and what misery! For many saw; among the rest His Mother, she who loved him best, She saw her poor blind Boy.

But for the Child, the sightless Boy, It is the triumph of his joy! The bravest Traveller in balloon, Mounting as if to reach the moon, Was never half so bless'd.

And let him, let him go his way, Alone, and innocent, and gay! For, if good Angels love to wait On the forlorn unfortunate, This Child will take no harm.

But now the passionate lament, Which from the crowd on