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150 THE MAY QUEEN.

Those suns, in golden light, e'en now

Look o'er the poet's lovely grave; Those winds are breathing soft, but thou,

Answering their whisper, there no more shalt wave.

The flowers o'er Posilippo's* brow

May cluster in their purple bloom, But on the o'ershadowing ilex-bough

Thy breezy place is void, by Virgil's tomb.

Thy place is void, — O, none on earth,

This crowded earth, may so remain, Save that which souls of loftiest birth

Leave when they part, their brighter home to gain!

Another leaf ere now hath sprung

On the green stem which once was thine; —

When shall another strain be sung

Like his whose dust hath made that spot a shrine?

THE MAY QUEEN. — Tennyson.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear, To-morrow '11 be the happiest time of all the blithe New Year;

* A mountain skirting the shores of the Bay of Naples, on one of the most beautiful heights of which stands the tomb of Virgil.

Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

There's many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;

There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline;

But none so fair as little Alice, in all the land, they say,

So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,

If ye do not call me loud when the day begins to break;

For I must gather knots of flowers and buds, and garlands gay;

For I -m to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

As I came up the valley, whom think ye I should see But Hobin, leaning on the bridge, beneath the hazle

tree? He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday, — But I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in

white, And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash o'

light.

152 THE MAY QUEEN.

They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they

say, For I'm to oe Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

They say he's dying all for love, — but that can never be; They say his heart is breaking, mother, — but what is that to me? There's many a bolder lad Jll woo me any summer

day,— And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green, And you ?11 be there too, mother, to see me made the Queen; For the shepherd lads on every side '11 come from far away, And I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

The honeysuckle round the porch has woven 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 o' the May, mother, I 'm to be

Queen o' 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 o' rain the whole of the livelong day,

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

All the valley, mother, '11 be fresh and green and

still, And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the

hill, And the rivulet in the flowery dale '11 merrily glance and play, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I Jm to be Queen o' the May.

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,

To-morrow '11 be the happiest time of all the blithe New Year;

To-morrow '11 be of all the year the maddest, merriest day,

For I Jm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May,

NEW YEAR'S EVE. — Tennyson.

If you 're waking, call me early, call me early, mother

dear, For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New Year; It is the last New Year that I shall ever see, Then ye may lay me low in the mould, and think no more o' me

To-night I saw the sun set; he set and left behind The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind:

154

NEW YEARS EVE.

And the New Year's coming up, mother, but I shall never see The May upon the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.

Last May we made a crown of flowers; we had a merry day! Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me

Queen o' May; And we danced about the May-pole, and in the hazle

copse, Till Charles's-wain* came out above the tall, white chimney-tops.

There's not a flower on all the hills; the frost is on the pane;
I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again;
I wish the snow would melt, and the sun come out on high;
I long to see a flower so, before the day I die.

The building rook '11 caw from the windy, tall elmtree,

And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea;And the swallow '11 come back again with summer o'er the wave, But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.

Upon the chancel-casement and upon that grave o'

mine, In the early, early morning, the summer sun '11 shine, Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill, When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is still.

* A constellation in the heavens.

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