The honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy bowers, And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers, And the wild marsh marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray,

And I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of the May.

The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass,
And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass;
There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the live-long day,
And I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of
the May.

All the valley, mother, will be fresh, and green, and still,
And the cowslip and the crow-foot are over all the hill,
And the rivulet in the flowery dale will merrily glance and play,
For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of
the May.

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
To-morrow 'ill be the happiest day of all the glad new year;
To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day,
For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of
the May.

TENNYSON.

7. WE ARE SEVEN.

A SIMPLE child, dear brother Jim,

That lightly draws its breath,

And feels its life in every limb,
What can it know of death?

I met a little cottage girl;

She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That cluster'd round her head.

"Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?"

"How many? Seven in all," she said, And, wondering, look'd at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell!" She answer'd, “Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell;

And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea;

Yet you are seven! I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be."

Then did the little maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."

"You run about, my little maid!
Your limbs they are alive!
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then you are only five!"

"Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied,

"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side.

"My stockings there I often knit,

My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit-
I sit and sing to them.

66 And, often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

"The first that died was little Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain,
And then she went away.

"So in the church-yard she was laid;
And when the grass was dry,

Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.

"And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go,

And he lies by her side."

"How many are you then," said I, "If they two are in heaven?"

The little maiden did reply,

"O master! we are seven."

"But they are dead; those two are dead;
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little maid would have her will,
And said, “Nay, we are seven."

WORDSWORTH.

8. THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.

THE stately Homes of England,
How beautiful they stand!

Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land.

The deer across their greensward bound
Through shade and sunny gleam,

And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.

The merry Homes of England!
Around their hearths by night,

What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!

There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childish tale is told;
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.

The blessed Homes of England!
How softly on their bowers

Is laid the holy quietness

That breathes from Sabbath hours!

Solemn, yet sweet, the church bell's chime
Floats through their woods at morn;
All other sounds, in that still time,
Of breeze and leaf are born.

The cottage Homes of England!
By thousands on her plains,
They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks,
And round the hamlet-fanes.
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves;
And fearless there the lowly sleep,
As the bird beneath their eaves.
The free fair Homes of England!
Long, long in hut and hall,
May hearts of native proof be reared
To guard each hallow'd wall!
And green for ever be the groves,
And bright the flowery sod,

Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God!

MRS. HEMANS.

9. THE AGED MINSTREL.

[From THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.]

THE way was long, the wind was cold,

The Minstrel was infirm and old; His wither'd cheek, and tresses gray, Seem'd to have known a better day; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy.