Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?
A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.
Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!
Let Nature be your teacher
Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there In happier beauty; more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams.