ODE TO THE CUCKOO

 

ODE TO THE CUCKOO

            The cuckoo is a lovely bird liked by all and sundry. It is one of the favourite birds of poets. There are several poems that praise it for its melodious  qualities.  

            According to dictionaries the cuckoo is a bird with a call that sounds like its name.

            There are also cuckoo clocks which have a small toy bird inside that comes out every hour and marks the hours with the sound like that of a cuckoo.

            The cuckoo is praised for its iconic, melodious call. Moreover, it is a natural harbinger of the spring season and new life.

            Culturally and mythologically, the cuckoo is deeply woven into ancient lore and Greek mythology.

            The loud, two-syllable song of the male cuckoo is one of the most recognized bird calls in the world.

            In English literature, there two poems addressed to the cuckoo. One is written  by William Wordsworth (1770-1850). It is titled To the Cuckoo. In one of the stanzas of this poem he writes :

            Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!

            Even yet thou art to me

            No bird, but an invisible thing,

            A voice, a mystery;

            The same when in my school boy days

            I listened to that Cry

            Which made me look a thousand ways

            In bush, and tree, and sky.

           

            The second poem titled Ode to the Cuckoo is controversially claimed to have been written by a Scottish poet and minister John Logan (1748-1788). It was published in 1781. It is now reliably claimed to have been written by his college friend Michael Bruce who was also a poet. The full text of this poem is given below without any alteration.

 

“Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!

Thou messenger of Spring!

Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,

And woods thy welcome ring.

 

What time the daisy decks the green,

Thy certain voice we hear:

Hast thou a star to guide thy path,

Or mark the rolling year?

 

Delightful visitant! with thee

I hail the time of flowers,

And hear the sound of music sweet

From birds among the bowers.

 

The school-boy, wandering through the wood

To pull the primrose gay,

Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear,

And imitates thy lay.

 

What time the pea puts on the bloom,

Thou fli'st thy vocal vale,

An annual guest in other lands,

Another Spring to hail.

 

Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear;

Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No Winter in thy year!

 

O could I fly, I'd fly with thee!

We'd make, with joyful wing,

Our annual visit o'er the globe,

Companions of the Spring.”

                                                            ********

G.R. Kanwal

5^th June 2026

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