How fine this conception of a separated voice--'The viewless spirit of a _lonely_ sound,' plaining in the woods as if seeking for some incarnation it cannot find, and saddening the spring groves by a note so contradictory to the genius of the season. In reference to the note of the cuckoo we find the following remarks among the fragments from the commonplace-book of Dr Thomas Brown, printed by Dr Welsh:--'The name of the cuckoo has generally been considered as a very pure instance of imitative harmony. But in giving that name, we have most unjustly defrauded the poor bird of a portion of its very small variety of sound. The second syllable is not a mere echo of the first; it is the sound reversed, like the reading of a sotadic line; and to preserve the strictness of the imitation we should give it the name of Ook-koo.' _This_ is the prose of the cuckoo after its poetry. TO THE CUCKOO. 1 Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove! The messenger of spring! Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing. 2 Soon as the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear; Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year? 3 Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet, From birds among the bowers. 4 The school-boy, wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay, Starts thy curious voice to hear, And imitates the lay. 5 What time the pea puts on the bloom, Thou fli'st thy vocal vale, An annual guest in other lands, Another spring to hail. 6 Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year. 7 Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! We'd make with joyful wing Our annual visit o'er the globe, Attendants on the spring. ELEGY, WRITTEN IN SPRING. 1 'Tis past: the North has spent his rage; Stern Winter now resigns the lengthening day; The stormy howlings of the winds assuage, And warm o'er ether western breezes play. 2 Of genial heat and cheerful light the source, From southern climes, beneath another sky, The sun, returning, wheels his golden course: Before his beams all noxious vapours fly. 3 Far to the North grim Winter draws his train, To his own clime, to Zembla's frozen shore; Where, throned on ice, he holds eternal reign, Where whirlwinds madden, and where tempests roar. 4 Loosed from the bonds of frost, the verdant ground Again puts on her robe of cheerful green, Again puts forth her flowers, and all around, Smiling, the cheerful face of Spring is seen. 5 Behold! the trees new-deck their withered boughs; Their ample leaves, the hospitable plane, The taper elm, and lofty ash disclose; The blooming hawthorn variegates the scene.