Ode to the Cuckoo

Nightingales built the nest
    Where, as a lonely guest,
    First thy young head did rest,
      Cuckoo, so dear!
    Strange to the father-bird,
    Strange to the mother-bird,
    Sounded the note they heard,
      Tender and clear.
    Fleeing thy native bow'rs,
    Bright with the silv'ry flow'rs,
    Oft in the summer hours
      Hither thou fliest;
    Light'st on some orange tall,
    Scatt'ring the blossoms all,
    And, while around they fall,
      Ceaselessly criest.
    Through, through the livelong day
    Soundeth thy roundelay,
    Never its accents may
      Pall on mine ear:—
    Come, take a bribe of me!
    Ne'er to far regions flee;
    Dwell on mine orange-tree,
      Cuckoo, so dear!