 | Birds, Bees and Blossoms |  |
30
THE CUCKOO.
“Cuckoo—cherry tree—
Come down and tell me
How many cherries hang
A-top of that old cherry tree.”
Old Song.
Come down and tell me
How many cherries hang
A-top of that old cherry tree.”
Old Song.
So did each tiny child first greet thee,
No matter where he chanced to meet thee;
It was enough thy voice to hear,
Whether thou wert remote or near;
And at that sound off all would run,
Shading their eyes from the bright sun,
As they looked up in every tree,
And strained to get a glance of thee,
While chanting that old melody.
Thy double note, thy summer tale,
Rang o'er each hill and lengthened vale;
Heard here, heard there, heard everywhere,
No trumpet-note more loud or clear.
The smallest child doth stare around,
Up at the sky, down at the ground;
Puzzled, and can't make out at all
From whence doth come thy summer call;
And how his eyes light up with glee,
When he that blue-gray bird doth see,
And then he crows out lustily
The legend of the cherry tree.
No matter where he chanced to meet thee;
It was enough thy voice to hear,
Whether thou wert remote or near;
And at that sound off all would run,
Shading their eyes from the bright sun,
As they looked up in every tree,
And strained to get a glance of thee,
While chanting that old melody.
Thy double note, thy summer tale,
Rang o'er each hill and lengthened vale;
Heard here, heard there, heard everywhere,
No trumpet-note more loud or clear.
The smallest child doth stare around,
Up at the sky, down at the ground;
Puzzled, and can't make out at all
From whence doth come thy summer call;
And how his eyes light up with glee,
When he that blue-gray bird doth see,
And then he crows out lustily
The legend of the cherry tree.
Such simple pleasures, children dear,
Will come in many an after year,
With memories of cheerful thought;
Will come upon you all unsought,
And with them no reproaches bring,
But pictures of remembered Spring;—
Of “meadows painted with delight,”
Stealing through pleasant dreams of night;
The tree, the path, the rustic stile,
When that song did the hour beguile;
When all beside was bright and still,
Save the cock crowing from the hill,
With answer from some distant grange:
Ay, many a scene and many a change
Will that voice so old and loud,
When heard in after years, unshroud;
Will bring back those who by your side
Walked with you through the valleys wide,
And memories of those who've died.
Will come in many an after year,
31
Will come upon you all unsought,
And with them no reproaches bring,
But pictures of remembered Spring;—
Of “meadows painted with delight,”
Stealing through pleasant dreams of night;
The tree, the path, the rustic stile,
When that song did the hour beguile;
When all beside was bright and still,
Save the cock crowing from the hill,
With answer from some distant grange:
Ay, many a scene and many a change
Will that voice so old and loud,
When heard in after years, unshroud;
Will bring back those who by your side
Walked with you through the valleys wide,
And memories of those who've died.
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