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 o' 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 yester-

day,

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
They say his heart is breaking, mother

me?

can never be :

I what is that to

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 honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy bowers, And 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.

To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind

The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind;

And the New-year's coming up, mother, but I shall never

see

The blossom on 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 of May;

And we danced about the may-pole and in the hazel copse, Till Charles's Wain 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 'ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree,
And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea,

And the swallow 'ill 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 of mine,
In the early early morning the summer sun ill shine,
Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill,
When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is
still.

When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light

You'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.

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.

I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now; You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go; Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child.

If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place; Tho' you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face; Tho' 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 good-night for

evermore,

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.

She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary-floor:

Let her take 'em: they are hers: I shall never garden

more:

But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I

set

About the parlor-window and the box of mignonette.

Good-night, sweet mother: call me before the day is born.
All night I lay 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.

CONCLUSION.

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.

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.

O blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver hair!
And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me
there!

O 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 me all the sin. Now, tho' my lamp was lighted late, there's One will let me in:

Nor would I now be well, mother, again if that could be, For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for me.

1 did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch

beat,

There came a sweeter token when the night and morning

meet: