Imagens da página
PDF
ePub

He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave | And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'll merrily him yesterday,

glance and play, But I'm to be Queen o’the May, mother, I 'm to For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

be Queen o' the May.

[ocr errors][merged small]

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all So you must wake and call me early, call me in white;

early, mother dear; And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash To-morrow 'll be the happiest time of all the glad of light.

new-year ; They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what To-morrow'll be of all the year the maddest, they say,

merriest day, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I’m to For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm be Queen o' the May.

to be Queen o' the May.

VI.

I.

NEW YEAR'S EVE. They say he's dying all for love, — but that can

never be ; They say his heart is breaking, mother, — what If you're waking, call me early, call me early,

mother dear, is that to me?

For I would see the sun rise upon the glad newThere's many a bolder lad 'll woo me any sum

year. mer day ; And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to Then you may lay me low i' the mould, and think

It is the last new-year that I shall ever see, be Queen o' the May,

no more of me.

[blocks in formation]

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the To-night I saw the sun set, — he set and left begreen,

hind And you 'll be there, too, mother, to see me made The good old year, the dear old time, and all my the Queen ;

peace of mind; For the shepherd lads on every side 'll come from And the new-year's coming up, mother ; but I far away ;

shall never see And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I 'm to The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the be Queen o' the May.

tree.

III.

VIII.

The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its Last May we made a crown of flowers; we had wavy bowers,

a merry day, — And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet

Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made cuckoo-flowers ;

me Queen of May; And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in And we danced about the May-pole and in the

swamps and hollows gray ; And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white be Queen o' the May.

chimney-tops.

hazel copse,

IV.

IX.

There's not a flower on all the hills, — the frost The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the

is on the pane ; meadow-grass,

I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again. And the happy stars above them seem to brighten I wish the snow would melt and the sun come as they pass ;

out on high, There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the I long to see a flower so before the day I die.

livelong day; And I'm to be Queen o'the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

The building rook 'll caw from the windy talı

elm-tree,

And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, All the valley, mother, 'll be fresh and green and And the swallow 'll come back again with sumstill,

mer o'er the wave, And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mould. hill,

ering grave.

V.

X.

[blocks in formation]

['pon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave She'll find my garden tools upon the granary of mine,

floor. In the early, early morning the summer sun ’ll Let her take 'em, — they are hers; I shall never shine,

garden more. Before the red cock crows from the farm upon But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rosethe hill, –

bush that I set When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the About the parlor window and the box of mignon. world is still

ette.

[blocks in formation]

When the flowers come again, mother, beneath Good night, sweet mother ! Call me before the the waning light

day is born. You'll never see me more in the long gray fields All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn; at night;

But I would see the sun rise upon the glad newWhen from the dry dark wold the summer airs year, blow cool

So, if you ’re waking, call me, call me early, mother

dear On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the

bulrush in the pool.

CONCLUSION.

[blocks in formation]

You 'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the I thought to pass away before, and yet alive I hawthorn shade,

am; And you 'll conie sometimes and see me where I And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of am lowly laid.

the lamb. I shall not forget you, mother; I shall hear you How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the

when you pass, With your feet above my head in the long and To die before the snowdrop came, and now the pleasant grass.

violet's here.

year!

II.

IX.

I have been wild and wayward, but

0, sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the 'll forgive you

skies; me now; You 'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that

cannot rise ; and brow;

And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief

that blow; be wild ; You should not fret for me, mother, -- you have And sweeter far is death than life, to me that long

another child.

to go.

III.

X.

blessed sun,

If I can, I'll come again, mother, from out my

It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave the resting-place; Though you 'll not see me, mother, I shall look And now it seems as hard to stay; and yet, His

will be done! upon your face ; Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken But still I think it can't be long before I find re

lease ; And be often, often with you when you think I'm

And that good man, the clergyman, has told me

words of peace.

what you say,

far away.

XI.

IV.

Good night! good night! when I have said good 0, blessings on his kindly voice, and on his silver night forevermore,

hair! And you see me carried out from the threshold And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet of the door,

me there! Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be o, blessings on his kindly heart and on his silver growing green,

head ! She 'll be a better child to you than ever I have A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside been.

my bed.

XI.

[ocr errors]

He taught me all the mercy, for he showed me So now I think my time is near; I trust it is. all the sin;

I know Now, though my lamp was lighted late, there's The blessed music went that way my soul will

One will let me in. Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day ; could be ;

But Effie, you must comfort her when I am past For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for away.

have to go.

XII.

me.

VI.

to fret;

XIII.

VII.

And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch beat,

There's many worthier than I, would make him

happy yet. There came a sweeter token when the night and

If I had lived — I cannot tell - I might have morning meet; But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your But all these things have ceased to be, with my

been his wife ; hand in mine,

desire of life. And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign.

O, look ! the sun begins to rise ! the heavens are

in a glow ; All in the wild March-morning I heard the He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them angels call,

I know. It was when the moon was setting, and the dark And there I move no longer now, and there his

was over all ; The trees began to whisper, and the wind began Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than

light may shine, to roll,

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

O, sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this

day is done For, lying broad awake, I thought of you and The voice that now is speaking may be beyond

Effie dear; I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer Forever and forever with those just souls and

true, With all my strength I prayed for both, — and so And what is life, that we should moan ? why I felt resigned,

make we such ado? And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind.

Forever and forever, all in a blessed home,

And there to wait a little while till you and I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in my

To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your And then did something speak to me, -I know breast, not what was said ;

And the wicked cease from troubling, and the For great delight and shuddering took hold of all

weary are at rest.

XIV.

VIII.

the sun,

here ;

XV.

IX.

Effie come,

bed;

1
ALFRED TENNYSON.

my mind,

And up the valley came again the music on the

wind.

HOME, WOUNDED.

X.

But you were sleeping ; and I said, “It's not

for them, — it's mine"; And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it

for a sign. And once again it came, and close beside the

window-bars ; Then seemed to go right up to heaven and die

among the stars.

WHEEL me into the sunshine,
Wheel me into the shadow,
There must be leaves on the woodbine,
Is the king-cup crowned in the meadow?
Wheel me down to the meadow,
Down to the little river,
In sun or in shadow

I shall not dazzle or shiver,
I shall be happy anywhere,
Every breath of the morning air
Makes me throb and quiver.
Stay wherever you will,
By the mount or under the hill,
Or down by the little river:
Stay as long as you please,
Give me only a bud from the trees,
Or a blade of grass in morning dew,
Or a cloudy violet clearing to blue,
I could look on it forever.

Wheel, wheel through the sunshine,
Wheel, wheel through the shadow ;
There must be odors round the pine,
There must be balm of breathing ne,
Somewhere down in the meadow.
Must I choose? Then anchor me there
Beyond the beckoning poplars, where
The larch is snooding her flowery hair
With wreaths of morning shadow.
Among the thickest hazels of the brake
Perchance some nightingale doth shake
His feathers, and the air is full of song;
In those old days when I was young and strong,
He used to sing on yonder garden tree,
Beside the nursery.
Ah, I remember how I loved to wake,
And find him singing on the self-same bough
(I know it even now)
Where, since the flit of bat,
In ceaseless voice he sat,
Trying the spring night over, like a tune,
Beneath the vernal moon ;
And while I listed long,
Day rose, and still he sang,
And all his stanchless song,
As something falling unaware,
Fell out of the tall trees he sang among,
Fellringing down the ringing morn, and rang,
Rang like a golden jewel down a golden stair.
My soul lies out like a basking hound, -
A hound that dreams and dozes ;
Along my life my length I lay,
I fill to-morrow and yesterday,
I am warm with the suns that have long since set,
I am warm with the summers that are not yet,
And like one who dreams and dozes
Softly afloat on a sunny sea,
Two worlds are whispering over me,
And there blows a wind of roses
From the backward shore to the shore before,
From the shore before to the backward shore,
And like two clouds that meet and pour
Each through each, till core in core

A single self reposes,
The nevermore with the evermore
Above me mingles and closes ;
As my soul lies out like the basking hound,
And wherever it lies seems happy ground,
And when, awakened by some sweet sound,
A dreamy eye uncloses,
I see a blooming world around,
And I lie amid primroses,
Years of sweet primroses,
Springs of fresh primroses,
Springs to be, and springs for me
Of distant dim primroses.
O to lie a-dream, a-dream,
To feel I may dream and to know you deem
My work is done forever,
And the palpitating fever,

That gains and loses, loses and gains,
And beats the hurrying blood on the brunt of a

thousand pains, Cooled at once by that blood-let

Upon the parapet ;
And all the tedious tasked toil of the difficult long

endeavor
Solved and quit by no more fine
Than these limbs of mine,
Spanned and measured once for all
By that right hand I lost,
Bought up at so light a cost
As one bloody fall
On the soldier's bed,
And three days on the ruined wall
Among the thirstless dead.

O to think my name is crost
From duty's muster-roll ;
That I may slumber though the clarion call,
And live the joy of an embodied soul
Free as a liberated ghost.
O to feel a life of deed
Was emptied out to feed
That fire of pain that burned so brief awhile,
That fire from which I come, as the dead come
Forth from the irreparable tomb,
Or as a martyr on his funeral pile
Heaps up the burdens other men do bear
Through years of segregated care,
And takes the total load
Upon his shoulders broad,
And steps from earth to God.

O to think, through good or ill,
Whatever I am you 'll love me still ;
O to think, though dull I be,
You that are so grand and free,
You that are so bright and gay,
Will pause to hear me when I will,
As though my head were gray ;

New springs of fresh primroses,
Springs of earth's primroses,
Springs to be and springs for me
Of distant dim primroses.

SIDNEY DOBELL.

THE BLIND BOY.

And though there's little I can say,
Each will look kind with honor while he

hears.
And to your loving ears
My thoughts will halt with honorable scars,
And when my dark voice stumbles with the

weight Of what it doth relate (Like that blind comrade, - blinded in the

wars, — Who bore the one-eyed brother that was lame), You 'll remember 't is the same That cried “ Follow me,” Upon a summer's day ; And I shall understand with unshed tears This great reverence that I see, And bless the day, -- and thee, Lord God of victory!

0, SAY what is that thing called Light,

Which I must ne'er enjoy ?
What are the blessings of the sight,

0, tell your poor blind boy !

You talk of wondrous things you see,

You say the sun shines bright; I feel him warm, but how can he

Or make it day or night?

My day or night myself I make

Whene'er I sleep or play ; And could I ever keep awake

With me 't were always day.

And she,
Perhaps, O even she
May look as she looked when I knew her
In those old days of childish sooth,
Ere my boyhood dared to woo her.
I will not seek nor sue her,
For I'm neither fonder nor truer
Than when she slighted my lovelorn youth,
My giftless, graceless, guinealess truth,
And I only lived to rue her.
But I'll never love another,
And, in spite of her lovers and lands,
She shall love me yet, my brother !

With heavy sighs I often hear

You mourn my hapless woe ; But sure with patience I can bear

A loss I ne'er can know.

Then let not what I cannot have

My cheer of mind destroy : Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,

Although a poor blind boy.

COLLEY CIBBER.

DIVERSITY OF FORTUNE.

FROM "MISS KILMANSEGG." WHAT different dooms our birthdays bring ! For instance, one little manikin thing

Survives to wear many a wrinkle ; While death forbids another to wake, And a son that it took nine moons to make

Expires without even a twinkle :

As a child that holds by his mother, While his mother speaks his praises, Holds with eager hands, And ruddy and silent stands In the ruddy and silent daisies, And hears her bless her boy, And lifts a wondering joy, So I'll not seek nor sue her, But I'll leave my glory to woo her, And I'll stand like a child beside, And from behind the purple pride I 'll lift my eyes unto her, And I shall not be denied. And you will love her, brother dear, And perhaps next year you 'll bring me here All through the balmy April tide, And she will trip like spring by my side, And be all the birds to my ear. And here all three we'll sit in the sun, And see the Aprils one by one, Primrosed Aprils on and on, Till the floating prospect closes In golden glimmers that rise and rise, And perhaps are gleams of Paradise, And perhaps too far for mortal eyes,

Into this world we come like ships,
Launched from the docks, and stocks, and slips,

For fortune fair or fatal ;
And one little craft is cast away
In its very first trip in Babbicome Bay,

While another rides safe at Port Natal.

What different lots our stars accord !
This babe to be hailed and wooed as a lord !

And that to be shunned like a leper! One, to the world's wine, honey, and corn, Another, like Colchester native, born

To its vinegar only, and pepper.

« AnteriorContinuar »