Hail to thee, shouting Cuckoo! in my youth
Thou wert long time, the Ariel of my hope,
The marvel of a summer! it did soothe
To listen to thee on some sunny slope
Where the high oaks forbade an ampler scope
Than of the blue skies upward, - and to sit
Canopied, in the gladdening horoscope
Which thou, my planet, flung - a pleasant fit,
Long time my hours endear'd, my kindling fancy smit.

And thus I love thee still - thy monotone,
The selfsame transport flashes through my frame,
And when thy voice, sweet sibyl, all is flown
My eager ear, I cannot choose but blame.
O may the world these feelings never tame!
If age o'er me her silver tresses spread,
I still would call thee by a lover's name,
And deem the spirit of delight unfled,
Nor bear, though gray without, a heart to nature dead!