THE MAY QUEEN, You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear ; To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year ; 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 you do not call me loud, when the day begins to break : But 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 of the May. As I came up the valley, whom think ye should I see, But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel 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 of light. They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say, For I'm to be 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— what is that to me? There's many a bolder lad 'ill 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'll be there too, mother, to see me made the queen ; For the shepherd lads on every side 'ill come from far away, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. The And honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy bowers, 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 of 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, 'ill be fresh and green and still, And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill, And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance and play, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear, To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year : To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest, merriest day, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 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 you may lay me low i' the mould and think no more of me. You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade, To night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind The good old year, the dear old time, and And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid. all my peace of mind; And the New-year's coming up, mother, I shall not forget you, mother; I shall hear but I shall never see you when you pass, The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass. upon the tree. Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day; I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now; Beneath the hawthorn on the green they You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive made me Queen of May; me ere I go; And we danced about the may-pole and in Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, the hazel copse, Till Charles's Wain came out above the You should not fret for me, mother, you tall white chimney-tops. have another child. There's not a flower on all the hills: the If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place; frost is on the pane: I only wish to live till the snow-drops come Tho' you'll not see me, mother, I shall look again: I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high: upon your face; Tho' I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you say, I long to see a flower so before the day I And be often, often with you when you die. think I'm far away. The building rook 'ill caw from the windy | Good-night, good-night, when I have said good-night for evermore, tall elm tree, And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow And you see me carried out from the lea, threshold of the door; And the swallow 'ill come back again with Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave summer o'er the wave, be growing green : But I shall lie alone, mother, within the She'll be a better child to you than ever I mouldering grave. have been. Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that She'll find my garden-tools upon the gran grave of mine, In the early early morning the summer sun 'ill shine, ary floor: Let her take 'em: they are hers: I shall never garden more: Before the red cock crows from the farm But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the upon the hill, rose-bush that I set When you are warm-asleep, mother, and About the parlor-window, and the box of all the world is still. mignonette. When the flowers come again, mother, Good-night, sweet mother: call me before the day is born. beneath the waning light You'll never see me more in the long gray All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at fields at night; When from the dry dark wold the summer morn; But I would see the sun rise upon the glad On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, airs blow cool the bulrush in the pool, mother dear. Oh, sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies, And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot rise, And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that blow, And sweeter far is death than life to me that long to go. It seem'd so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun, And now it seems as hard to stay; and yet, His will be done! But still I think it can't be long before I find release; And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of peace. Oh, blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver hair, And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me there! Oh, blessings on his kindly heart and on his silver head! A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside my bed. He taught me all the mercy, for he show'd All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call; It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all; The trees began to whisper, and the wind And in the wild March-morning I heard began to roll, them call my soul. For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie dear; I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here; With all my strength I pray'd for both, and so I felt resign'd, And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind. The it is. I know I trust And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day, "But, Effie, you must comfort her when I am pass'd away. I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the And say to Robin a kind word, and tell death-watch beat, him not to fret; There came a sweeter token when the night There's many a worthier than I would make him happy yet. But sit beside my bed, mother, and put If I had lived-I cannot tell-I might and morning meet; your hand in mine, have been his wife, And Effie on the other side, and I will tell But all these things have ceased to be, with the sign. my desire of life. Oh, look! the sun begins to rise, the heav- She did not say to the sun, "Good-night!" Though she saw him there like a ball of ens are in a glow; He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know. light; For she knew he had God's time to keep And there I move no longer now, and All over the world, and never could sleep. there his light may shine than mine. Wild flowers in the valley for other hands The tall pink foxglove bowed his head; ere this day is done The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun, And while on her pillow she softly lay, For ever and for ever with those just souls She knew nothing more till again it was and true; And what is life that we should moan? why make we such ado? For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home, And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come, To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your breast, And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. ALFRED TENNYSON. GOOD-NIGHT AND GOOD-MORNING. A FAIR little girl sat under a tree, day; And all things said to the beautiful sun, "Good-morning, good-morning! our work is begun." RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES (Lord Houghton). LITTLE BOY BLUE. The little toy dog is covered with dust, But sturdy and stanch he stands; And the little toy soldier is red with rust, And his musket molds in his hands. Time was when the little toy dog was new, And the soldier was passing fair, And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there. Then smoothed her work and folded it "Now, don't you go till I come," he said, right, “And don't you make any noise!" And said, "Dear work, good-night, good- So, toddling off to his trundle-bed, night!" Such a number of rooks came over her head, Crying "Caw! caw!" on their way to bed, She said, as she watched their curious flight, "Little black things, good-night, goodnight!" The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed, The sheep's "Bleat! bleat!" came over the road; All seeming to say, with a quiet delight, "Good little girl, good-night, good-night!" He dreamt of his pretty toys; Aye, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, And they wonder, as waiting the long years through In the dust of that little chair, What has become of our Little Boy Blue, Since he kissed them and put them there. EUGENE FIELD. |