Some sowing remains to be done in late years; and in forward ones, the weeds, which spring up abundantly in fields and gardens, require to be kept under. The hus. bandman now looks forward with anxious hope to the reward of his industry.

Be gracious, Heaven! for now laborious man
Has done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow!
Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend;
And temper all, thou world-reviving sun,
Into the perfect year !

THOMSON.

A MAY-DAY SONG.

Come out, come from cities,

For once your drudging stay;
With work 'twere thousand pities

To wrong this honoured day;

Your fathers met the May
With laughter, dance, and tabor;

Come be as wise as they ;
Come, steal to-day from labour.
Talk not of want of leisure ;

Believe me time was made
For laughter, mirth, and pleasure,

Far more than toil and trade;

And little short I hold
That social state from madness,

For daily bread when's sold
Man's natural right to gladness.
Turn out from lane and alley,

From court and busy street,
Through glade and grassy valley,

With songs the May to meet;

For, jests and laughter, care
From all things could but borrow;

The earth, the very air,
Are death to thoughts of sorrow.
Come, hear the silver prattle

Of brooks that bubbling run
Through pastures green, where cattle

Lie happy in the sun ;

Where violets' hidden eyes
Are watching May's sweet coming,

And gnats and burnished flies
Its welcome loud are humming.

MAY-DAY CAROLS.

199

In song the spring comes willing

To-day from out the grass ;
And every hedge is telling

Earth's gladness as you pass ;
Far up the bright blue sky
The quivering lark is singing ;

The thrush in copses nigh
Shouts out the joy it's bringing.

Then leave your weary moiling,

Your desks and shops to-day ; 'Tis sin to waste in toiling

This jubilee of May.

Come, stretch you where the light
Through golden limes is streaming,

And spend, O rare delight !
An hour in summer-dreaming.

W.C. BENNETT.

Get up, get up! for shame; the blooming morn
Upon her wings, presents the god unshorn :

See how Aurora throws her fair
Fresh-quilted colours through the air.
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed and see
The dew-bespangled herb and tree :
Each flower has wept, and bowed towards the cast
Above an hour since; yet you not drest;

Nay, not so much as out of bed,
When all the birds have matins said,
And sung their thankful hymns; 'tis sin,
Nay, profanation to keep in;

When as a thousand virgins on this day,
Spring sooner than the lark to fetch in May.

HERRICK.

A WOODNOTE.

Come ye, come ye, to the green, green wood;

Loudly the blackbird is singing,
The squirrel is feasting on blossom and bud,
And the curling fern is springing:

Here ye may sleep

In the moss so deep,
While the noon is so warm and so weary.

And sweetly awake

As the sun through the brake
Bids the fauvette and whitethroat sing cheery.

The quicken is tufted with blossom of snow,

And is throwing its perfume around it;
The wryneck replies to the cuckoo's halloo,
For joy that again she has found it;

The jay's red breast

Peeps over her nest,
In the midst of the crab-blossoms blushing;

And the call of the pheasant

Is frequent and pleasant
When all other calls are hushing.

WILLIAM HOWITT.

richest grass

"Instead of describing the progressive features of this lovely month," writes an author, who loves the country, "I shall rather say to every one that can, go out into the country and see them. See the village greens, where the May-poles once collected about them all the population of the place to rejoice. See the woods, to which the young people used to go out before daylight, a-Maying. See the fields, deep with

and flowers, where children in this beautiful holiday of Nature have from age to age run and gathered pinafores full of perishable beauty and fragrance. Pace the river sides, where poets bave walked, and mused on songs in honour of May. Sit on stiles, where lovers have sate, and dreamed that life was a May-month, to be followed by no autumn of care, no winter of death. Gaze on the clear sky, where, spite of death and care, the word—Immortality is written in the crystal dome of God. Enjoy that beauty which can come only from an eternal source of beauty; listen to that joy ringing from the throats of birds and the hum of insect wings-joy that must come from an eternal source of joy; and let the holiday heart strengthen itself in the assurance that all this scene of enjoyment is meant to be enjoyed, and not in vain.

Look at the gorgeous blossoms of the chesnut-tree ; see the lavish snow, which weighs down the hawthorn bough; gaze on the glory of the mountain-ash, the laburnum, the guelder-rose, and, at the latter end of the month, on the broad white flowers of the elder and the wayfaring tree; and feel that May comes but once a year, and will not give an hour more than is in her commission—no, not at the command of all the kings on earth.”

May is come, and May is flying;
Spring is here, and Spring is dying;
Shout a welcome, frank and flowing;
Say Farewell ! for she is going.
'Tis the hour when life is deepest;
"Tis the time when most thou weepest;
'Tis the day when flowers in numbers
Strew the sainted in their slumbers.
Buds are breaking; love is waking;
Time our very breath is taking.
We are jocund; we are drooping;
Summer comes, for Spring is stooping.
Love her! bless her! as she goeth,
Ere the grass the mower moweth;
Ere the cowslip hath departed,
Kiss sweet May, all tearful-hearted.
For she goes to all the perished;
Goes to all the dearly cherished;
Sails the sea, and climbs the mountain,
Seeking Spring's eternal fountain.
May is come, and May is flying;
Spring is here, and Spring is dying;
Shout a welcome, frank and flowing;
Say Farewell ! for she is going.

WILLIAM HOWITT.

Yes, truly before this sweet May is flown, let us bathe our hearts in delicious May sunshine; let us bind up a fragrant garland from the poets ; let us listen to the chorus of human and feathered minstrels.

And first to the Laureate.

MAY QUEEN.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
To-morrow'll 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.

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 Aowers, and buds and garlands gay,
For 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'll 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 many bowers,
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers;
And the mild 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 oʻthe May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.
All the valley, mother,'ll be fresh, and green, and still,
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill,
And the rivulet in the flowery dale'll 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'll be the happiest time of all the glad new year :
To-morrow'll 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.