THE MAY QUEEN.

195

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.

You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,

And you'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.

If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting place;

Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face;

Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what

you say,

And be often, often with you when you think I'm far away.

Good-night, good-night; when I have said goodnight forevermore,

And you 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 ever I have been.

Good-night, sweet mother, call me before the day is born;

All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn;

196

THE MAY QUEEN.

But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New Year; So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.

I thought to pass away before, and yet alive I am; And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of the lamb.

How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year! To die before the snowdrop came, and now the violet's here.

O, 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.

I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death watch beat;

There came a sweeter token when the night and morning meet:

But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in mine,

And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign.

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 MAY QUEEN.

197

The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll, And in the wild March-morning I heard 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 prayed for both, and so I felt resigned,

And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind.

I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in my bed, And then did something speak to me - I know not what was said;

For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind,

And up the valley came again the music on the wind.

But you were sleeping, and I said, "It's not for them; it's mine."

And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for a sign.

And once again it came, and close beside the windowbars,

Then seemed to go right up to Heaven, and die among the stars.

So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I know The blessed music went that way my soul will have

to go.

And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day; But, Effie, you must comfort her when I am passed away.

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BONDS OF AFFECTION.

O, look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a

glow;

He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I

know;

And there I move no longer now, and there his light

Wild flowers in the valley, for other hands than mine.

O, sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done,

The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the

sun

Forever and forever with those just souls and true: And what is life, that we should moan? Why make we such ado?

Forever and forever, all in a blessed home,

And there to wait a little while till you and Effie

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.

BONDS OF AFFECTION.

LANDON.

THERE is in life no blessing like affection;
It soothes, it hallows, elevates, subdues,
And bringeth down to earth its native heaven.

MY CREED.

It sits beside the cradle patient hours,

199

Whose sole contentment is to watch and love;
It bendeth o'er the death-bed, and conceals
Its own despair with words of faith and hope.
Life has naught else that may supply its place;
Void is ambition, cold is vanity,

And wealth an empty glitter, without love.

MY CREED.

ALICE CARY.

I HOLD that Christian grace abounds,
Where charity is seen; that when
We climb to heaven, 'tis on the rounds
Of love to men.

I hold all else, named piety,

A selfish scheme, a vain pretence; Where centre is not, can there be Circumference?

This I moreover hold and dare

Affirm where'er my rhyme may go: Whatever things be sweet or fair, Love makes them so.

Whether it be the sickle's rush

Through wheat fields, or the fall of showers,

Or by some cabin door a bush

Of rugged flowers.