« PreviousContinue »
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
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 elm
tree And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, And the swallow 'll 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 'll shine, Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill, When you are warm-asleep mother, and all the world
* A constellation in the heavens.
NEW YEAR'S EVE.
When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the
waving light Ye 'll never see me 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 hawthorn
shade, And ye 'll come sometimes and fee 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 please
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, - nay, — 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 resting
place; Though 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
Good night, good night, when I have said good night
for evermore, And ye see me carried out from the threshold of the
door, Do n't let Effie come to see me till my grave be grow
ing 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 parlour-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
SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.- Wordsworth.
She was a phantom of delight
THE LOST PLEIAD.
I saw her upon nearer view,
And now I see, with eye serene,
THE LOST PLEIAD. - Mrs. Hemans.
And is there glory from the heavens departed ? -
Still hold their place on high,
Thou, that no more art seen of mortal eye.
Hath the night lost a gem, the regal night ?
Though thou art exiled thence ; —
'Midst the far depths of purple gloom intense.
They rise in joy, the starry myriads burning,
And from the silvery sea
Swept by the wind away ?
And was there power to smite them with decay?
Why, who shall talk of thrones, of sceptres riven?
When from its height afar
Shines not the less for that one vanished star!
CORONACH.* - Sir W. Scott.
He is gone on the mountain,
He is lost to the forest,
When our need was the sorest.
From the rain-drops shall borrow,
To Duncan no morrow!
The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary,
Wails manhood in glory ;
* Funeral song