Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
From Barden Fell.
THE THRUSH (his voice jubilantly strong):
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
Thy hyacinth eyes
Have filled the coppice
With azure sighs.
My loved little queen
Of windflower feet,
Of daffodil-laughter
So primrose-sweet!
The rippling wood
Is a bluey lake.
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
Awake! Awake!
QUEEN MAB (wide awake now, springs from her couch and curtsies to the World, north, south, east, and west, then raises her arms to the Sun):
Gold Sun, I greet thee; do not hide thy face
Too soon behind the wistful little hills.
Thou art my lover, faithless, fickle, fair,
And leav'st me all too soon; my kingdom's naught
Without thy splendid presence; stay awhile.
Old World, old wrinkled granddame, thee I greet;
Thy loving smile renews thy youth once more.
For months I slept upon thy broad brown breast;
I thank thee, granddame, for so good a rest.
Ye birds that whistle, hares that limping run,
And little soft-eared rabbits, velvet shod,
Great wayward mortals, with unseeing eyes,
I greet you one and all, for Spring has come.
Laugh with the sun, muse with the silver showers;
Laugh and make merry, Spring is all too fleet,
And soon will dance away on flower-loved feet.
Exit QUEEN MAB in search of her court of butterflies. Above the bird-music is heard the insistent cry of the cuckoo, till the fells re-echo with his calling.
BOLTON WOODS, WHARFEDALE.