THE BELLS OF YOUTH

HE Bells of Youth are ringing in the gate

T ways of the South:

The bannerets of green are now unfurled: Spring has risen with a laugh, a wild-rose in her mouth,

And is singing, singing, singing thro' the world.

The Bells of Youth are ringing in all the silent places,

The primrose and the celandine are out:

Children run a-laughing with joy upon their faces,

The west wind follows after with a shout.

The Bells of Youth are ringing from the forests to the mountains,

From the meadows to the moorlands, hark their

ringing!

Ten thousand thousand splashing rills and ferndappled fountains

Are flinging wide the Song of Youth and onward flowing, singing!

The Bells of Youth are ringing in the gate-ways of the South:

The bannerets of green are now unfurled: Spring has risen with a laugh, a wild-rose in her

mouth,

And is singing, singing, singing thro' the

world.

Fiona Macleod

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING

I

HEARD a thousand blended notes,

While in a grove I sate reclined,

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,

The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure: -
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;

And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

William Wordsworth

UP

THE TABLES TURNED

P! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you'll grow double:

Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun, above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow

Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 't is a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher :
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a mind of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless -
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,

Of moral evil and of good,

Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect

Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;

Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

William Wordsworth

TO THE CUCKOO

BLITHE New-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice.

O 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 near.

Though babbling only to the Vale
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!

Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,

A voice, a mystery;

The same whom in my school-boy days
I listened to; that Cry

Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thee did I often rove

Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen.

And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.

O blessed Bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be

An unsubstantial, faery place,

That is fit home for Thee!

William Wordsworth

I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD

I

WANDERED lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd

A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company

I gazed and gazed- but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought :