They say he's dying all for love, but that can never be;

They say his heart is breaking, mother what is that to me?

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.

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.

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 rosebush 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 lie awake, but I fall asleep at

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 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;

30

With all my strength I pray'd for both, and so I felt resign'd,

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

I thought that it was fancy, and I listen'd in my bed,

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 past away.

And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret;

There's many a worthier than I, would make him happy yet.

If I had lived I cannot tell-I might have been his wife;

But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life.

Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
And in a little while our lips are dumb.
Let us alone. What is it that will last?
All things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
To war with evil? Is there any peace
In ever climbing up the climbing wave? 50
All things have rest, and ripen toward the
grave

In silence-ripen, fall, and cease:
Give us long rest or death, dark death, or
dreamful ease.

V

How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream,