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154 NEW YEAR’s EVE.
And the New Year's coming up, mother, but I shall
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 hazlecopse,
Till Charles's-wain’s 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’ll caw from the windy, tall elmtree,
And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea;
And the swallow 'll come back again with summe o'er the wave,
But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.
Upon the chancel-casement and upon that grave o' mlne,
In the early, early morning, the summer sun 'll 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.
When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waving light,
Ye'll never see ine more in the long, gray fields at night;
When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool
On the oat-grass and the sword-grass and the bulrush in the pool.
Ye'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthornshade,
And ye ’ll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid;
I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass,
With your feet above my head, in the long and pleasant grass. .
I have been wild and wayward, but ye’ll forgive me now ; Ye'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow ; Nay, -may, -ye must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, Ye shall not fret for me, mother, ye have another child.
If I can I’ll come again, mother, from out my restinglace;
Thoon ye ’ll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face;
Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what ye say,
And be often and often with you, when ye think I'm' far away.
156 SHE WAS A PHYANTOM OF DELIGHT.
Good-night, good-night, when I have said good-night for evermore, And ye see me carried out from the threshold of the door, Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green ; She’ll be a better child to you than I have ever been.
She 'll find my garden-tools upon the granary-floor; Let her take 'em ; they are hers; I shall never gar den more ; But tell her, when I’m gone, to train the rosebush that I set About the parlor-window, and the box of mignonette.
Good-night, sweet mother! call me when it begins to dawn ;
All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn;
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New Year,
So, if you’re waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.
SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. — Wordsworth.
SHE was a phantom of delight
I saw her upon nearer view,
And now I see, with eye serene,
AND is there glory from the heavens departed?—
Hath the night lost a gem, the regal night?
They rise in joy, the starry myriads burning, —
Couldst thou be shaken from thy radiant place,
Why, who shall talk of thrones, of sceptres riven 2
HE is gone on the mountain,
The hand of the reaper
* Funeral song.