This song in praise of May is very old, but has little except its antiquity to recommend it. At its conclusion, the singers receive presents from the people; after which they sing a supplementary verse, by way of thanks. It is literally as follows:

"God thank you, friendly people all!

God help you in his heavenly kingdom!
In heaven there is a golden table,
Where sit the angels healthy and fresh.
In heaven there is a golden throne.
God give you all an eternal reward!”

Many German poets have written songs in praise of Switzerland in choice Teutonic; but these, although in some instances extremely beautiful, are "drawing-room poetry," and, as such, do not come within the limits of our subject. The songs of the people, which we have been considering, are the effusions of nameless and forgotten poets,-in all probability of drovers and milkmaids; the more valuable on that account, because so much the more likely to give a true description of the manners and feelings of a class of society upon whom depends, in a great measure, the welfare of a country.

Like to daisies, snow-drops, blue-bells, forget-me-nots, crocuses, and hedge-roses, which the child may pluck as it runs past, and the labourer plant in his bosom, are the fragments of old songs that delight the people. They grow, like them, without culture, in cornfields and sheep-walks, and are as precious in the sight of the true lover of nature as the rare and costly exotics of the rich man's conservatory. On another occasion [Boz volente] we propose to present the reader with a wreath of such wild flowers gathered on German soil.

THE GOLDEN LEGEND.-No. I.

A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS.

"Statim sacerdoti apparuit diabolus in specie puellæ pulchritudinis miræ, et ecce Divus, fide catholicâ et cruce et aquâ benedictâ armatus, venit, et aspersit aquam in nomine sanctæ et individuæ Trinitatis, quam, quasi ardentem, diabolus, nequaROGER HOVEDEN. quam sustinere valens, mugitibus fugit."

"LORD ABBOT! Lord Abbot! I'd fain confess;

I am a-weary, and worn with woe;
Many a grief doth my heart oppress,
And haunt me whithersoever I go!"

On bended knee spake the beautiful Maid;
"Now lithe and listen, Lord Abbot, to me!"-
"Now naye, Fair Daughter," the Lord Abbot said,
"Now naye, in sooth it may hardly be;

"There is Mess Michael, and holy Mess John,
Sage Penitauncers I ween be they!

And hard by doth dwell, in St. Catherine's cell,
Ambrose, the anchorite old and grey!"

“ —Oh, I will have none of Ambrose or John,
Though sage Penitauncers I trow they be;
Shrive me may none save the Abbot alone.

Now listen, Lord Abbot, I speak to thee;
"Nor think foul scorn, though mitre adorn
Thy brow, to listen to shrift of mine.
I am a Maiden royally born,

And I come of old Plantaganet's line.
"Though hither I stray in lowly array,
I am a Damsel of high degree;

And the Compte of Eu, and the Lord of Ponthieu,
They serve my father on bended knee!

"Counts a many, and Dukes a few,

A suitoring came to my father's Hall;

But the Duke of Lorraine, with his large domain,
He pleas'd my father beyond them all.

"Dukes a many, and Counts a few,

I would have wedded right cheerfulie;

But the Duke of Lorraine was uncommonly plain,
And I vow'd that he ne'er should my bridegroom be!

"So hither I fly, in lowly guise,

From their gilded domes and their princely halls;
Fain would I dwell in some holy cell,

Or within some Convent's peaceful walls!"

-Then out and spake that proud Lord Abbot,
"Now rest thee, Fair Daughter, withouten fear;
Nor Count nor Duke but shall meet the rebuke
Of Holy Church an he seek thee here:

"Holy Church denieth all search

'Midst her sanctified ewes and her saintly rams;
And the wolves doth mock who would scathe her flock,
Or, especially, worry her little pet lambs.

"Then lay, Fair Daughter, thy fears aside,

For here this day shalt thou dine with me !"— "Now naye, now naye," the fair maiden cried; "In sooth, Lord Abbot, that scarce may be!

"Friends would whisper, and foes would frown,
Sith thou art a Churchman of high degree,
And ill mote it match with thy fair renown
That a wandering damsel dine with thee!

"There is Simon the Deacon hath pulse in store,
With beans and lettuces fair to see;

His lenten fare now let me share,

I pray thee, Lord Abbot, in charitie!"

"Though Simon the Deacon have pulse in store,
To our patron Saint foul shame it were
Should way-worn guest with toil opprest
Meet in his abbey such churlish fare.

"There is Peter the Prior, and Francis the Friar,
And Roger the Monk shall our convives be;
Small scandal I ween shall then be seen;
They are a goodly companie !"

The Abbot hath donn'd his mitre and ring,
His rich dalmatic, and maniple fine;
And the choristers sing as the lay-brothers bring
To the board a magnificent turkey and chine.

The turkey and chine they were done to a nicety;
Liver, and gizzard, and all were there :
Ne'er mote Lord Abbot pronounce Benedicite
Over more luscious or delicate fare.

But no pious stave he, no Pater or Ave,

Pronounced, as he gazed on that maiden's face:
She asked him for stuffing, she asked him for gravy,
And gizzard; but never once asked him for Grace!

Then gaily the Lord Abbot smiled and prest,
And the blood-red wine in the wine-cup fill'd;
And he help'd his guest to a bit of the breast,
And he sent the drumsticks down to be grill'd.

There was no lack of old Sherris sack,

Of Hippocras fine, or of Malmsey bright;
And aye, as he drained off his cup with a smack,
He grew less pious and more polite.

She pledged him once, and she pledged him twice,
And she drank as a Lady ought not to drink;
And he pressed her hand 'neath the table thrice,
And he winked as an Abbot ought not to wink.

And Peter the Prior, and Francis the Friar,
Sat each with a napkin under his chin;
But Roger the Monk got excessively drunk,
So they put him to bed, and they lock'd him in !

The lay-brothers gaz'd on each other, amaz'd;

And Simon the Deacon, with grief and surprise,
As he peep'd through the key-hole could scarce fancy real
The scene he beheld, or believe his own eyes.

In his ear was ringing the Lord Abbot singing,-
He could not distinguish the words very plain,

But 'twas all about "Cole," and "jolly old Soul,"

And "Fiddlers," and "Punch," and things quite as profane.

Even Porter Paul, at the sound of such revelling,

With fervour began himself to bless;

For he thought he must somehow have sure let the Devil in,—
And perhaps was not very much cut in his guess.

The Accusing Byers flew up to Heaven's Chancery,
Blushing like scarlet with shame and concern;
The Archangel took down his tale, and in answer he
Wept-(See the works of the late Mr. Sterne.)

Indeed, it is said, a less taking both were in
When, after a lapse of a great many years,
They book'd Uncle Toby five shillings for swearing,
And blotted the fine out at once with their tears!

But St. Nicholas' agony who may paint?

His senses at first were well-nigh gone;

The beatified Saint was ready to faint

When he saw in his Abbey such sad goings on!

For never, I ween, had such doings been seen

There before, from the time that most excellent Prince,
Earl Baldwin of Flanders, and other Commanders,
Had built and endow'd it some centuries since.

-But, hark!-'tis a sound from the outermost gate!
A startling sound from a powerful blow.

Who knocks so late?-it is half after eight

By the clock, and the clock 's five minutes too slow.

Never, perhaps, had such loud double-raps

Been heard in St. Nicholas' Abbey before;

All agreed "it was shocking to keep people knocking,"
But none seem'd inclined to "answer the door."

Now a louder bang through the cloisters rang,

And the gate on its hinges wide open flew

And all were aware of a Palmer there,

With his cockle, hat, staff, and his sandal shoe.

Many a furrow, and many a frown,

By toil and time on his brow were traced;
And his long loose gown was of ginger brown,
And his rosary dangled below his waist.

Now seldom, I ween, is such costume seen,
Except at stage-play or masquerade;

But who doth not know it was rather the go
With Pilgrims and Saints in the second Crusade?

With noiseless stride did that Palmer glide

Across the oaken floor;

And he made them all jump, he gave such a thump
Against the Refectory door!

Wide open it flew, and plain to the view
The Lord Abbot they all mote see;

In his hand was a cup, and he lifted it up,
"Here's the Pope's good health with three !!"

Rang in their ears three deafening cheers,
"Huzza! huzza! huzza!"

And one of the party said, "Go it, my hearty!"
When out spake that Pilgrim grey-