Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!
  Thou messenger of spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
  And woods thy welcome sing.

What time the daisy decks the green,
  Thy certain voice we hear.
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
  Or...

Poet: John Logan

O Blithe new-comer! I have heard,
  I hear thee and rejoice.
A cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
  Or but a wandering voice?

While I am lying on the grass
  Thy twofold shout I hear;
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
  At once far off and...