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THE MAY QUEEN.

BY ALFRED TENNYSON.

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.

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 yesterday,

But 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.

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.

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.

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;

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, sweet mother: call me before the day is

born.

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
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 between 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 so hard to say, 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.

I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the deathwatch 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 angel call;

It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all;

The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to

roll,

And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my soul,

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