RETURN OF THE CUCKOO.

How many a thought thy sounds recall,

Of days and scenes gone by;

When laughter shook the festive hall,

And strengthen❜d Friendship's tie.

Fatigued with London's noisy throng,
We sought the healthful breeze;
And left Lablache, or Grisi's song,
For verdure, lawns, and trees.

Fatigued with Bellamy's good cheer,
The hot and crowded room,

Division bell, or taunting sneer,

Of ***, or of ***.

How sweet the breath of balmy spring,

As northern snows retire,

And gentle zephyrs on their wing,

Expel the wintry fire.

How sweet the nightingale's clear note,

"As eve her mantle drew;"

And echoes o'er the landscape float

That youthful dreams renew.

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124

SONNET UPON THE

The playful squirrel on the lawn ;

The far resounding flail;

In hazel groves, the timid fawn,

O'er noisy mirth prevail.

The trusty sheep-dog's distant bark,
The soft-ton'd village chime,

At dewy morn the tuneful lark,
How soothing and sublime!

Where vanish'd, say, those joyful hours ?
How few the friends now left!

In vain they strew'd our path with flowers,

(Long since of most bereft.)

Where vanish'd, say, that graceful form,

By rivals e'en admir'd?

RETURN OF THE CUCKOO.

125

Silent the harp *** awoke,

Our sportsmen all have fled; Oppress'd by vile Podarga's yoke, These glades no more they tread.

Yet as the pensive sigh we heave,
And shed a grateful tear;

Firmly to those remaining cleave,
As drooping age draws near.

And since that demon with his frown,

No respite will allow;

Your scatter'd locks with roses crown,

And smooth the wrinkled brow.

Vain all resistance to his arm,

He makes the firmest bend,

Not even Beauty's potent charm,

Its owner can defend.

And taught by gay Anacreon's strain,

His precepts still pursue;

Enjoy the pleasures that remain,

(Howe'er remote and few.)

126

RETURN OF THE CUCKOO.

Good sense and temper will retard,

And oft the pain abate;

But Peer, or Peasant, Prince, or Bard,

Laments old age too late.

SONNET TO FASHION.

"Vain each attempt to enter the magic circle, unless you are born and "educated within its hallowed precincts; and if the Alpine heights are ever "attained, too late, you discover, how little is gained by the struggle !"

SAY! what art thou tins❜lly thing,

Lighter than an insect's wing;

Lighter than Aurora's dew,

Or the rainbow's brilliant hue?

Fickle as an April morn,

(When the zephyrs scent the lawn ;)

Or a belle in Beauty's prime,

Or the restless sons of rhyme.

Edgeworth.