THE CUCKOO. JOHN LOGAN. HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove! Thou messenger of spring! Soon as the daisy decks the green, Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers. The schoolboy, wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay, What time the pea puts on the bloom, Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE. | All thoughts of ill: all evil deeds, SAINT AUGUSTINE! well hast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread That have their root in thoughts of ill: Whatever hinders or impedes The action of the nobler will; Beneath our feet each deed of All these must first be trampled shame! All common things, each day's events, That with the hour begin and end, Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend. The low desire, the base design. And all occasions of excess: The longing for ignoble things: The strife for triumph more than truth; The hardening of the heart, that brings Irreverence for the dreams of youth; down Beneath our feet, if we would gain In the bright fields of fair renown The right of eminent domain. We have not wings, we cannot soar; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time. The mighty pyramids of stone That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, When nearer seen, and better known, Are but gigantic flights of stairs. The distant mountains, that uprear Their solid bastions to the skies, Are crossed by pathways, that appear As we to higher levels rise. |