They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say,
For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of the May.
They say he is 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 'll woo me any summer day;
And I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of 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 'll come from far away;
And I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of
the May.
The honeysuckle round the porch has woven 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 of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of 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 of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of the May.
All the valley, mother, 'll be fresh and green and still,
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill;
And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'll merrily glance and play;
For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of
the May.
So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
To-morrow 'll be the happiest time of all the glad New-Year:
To-morrow 'll be, of all the year, the maddest, merriest day,
For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of
the May.
H, the snow, the beautiful snow!
Filling the sky and the earth below;
Over the house-tops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet;
Dancing, flirting, skimming along,
Beautiful snow! it can do nothing wrong;
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek,
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak
Beautiful snow, from the heavens above,
Pure as an angel, and fickle as love!
Oh, the snow, the beautiful snow!
How the flakes gather and laugh as they go!
Whirling about in its maddening fun,
It plays in its glee with every one.
Chasing, laughing, hurrying by,
It lights up the face, and it sparkles the eye;
And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound,
Snap at the crystals that eddy around.
The town is alive, and its heart in a glow
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow.
How the wild crowd goes swaying along,
Hailing each other with humor and song!
How the gay sledges like meteors flash by,
Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye!
Ringing, swinging, dashing they go,
Over the crest of the beautiful snow;
Snow so pure when it falls from the sky,
To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by -
To be trampled and tracked by thousands of feet,
Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street.
How strange it should be that this beautiful snow
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go!
How strange it would be, when the night comes again, If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain!
Fainting, freezing, dying-alone!
Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan
To be heard in the crash of the crazy town,
Gone mad in their joy at the snow's coming down;
To lie and to die in my terrible woe,
With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow!
Helpless and foul as the trampled snow,
Sinner, despair not! Christ stoopeth low
To rescue the soul that is lost in its sin,
And raise it to life and enjoyment again,
Groaning, bleeding, dying for thee,
The crucified hung on the accursed tree,
His accents of mercy fell soft on thine ear,
Is there mercy for me? Will He heed my prayer?
O God! in the stream that for sinners did flow
Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
UT of the North the wild news came,
Far flashing on its wings of flame,
Swift as the boreal light which flies
At midnight through the startled skies.
And there was tumult in the air,
The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, And through the wide land everywhere The answering tread of hurrying feet; While the first oath of Freedom's gun Came on the blast from Lexington; And Concord roused, no longer tame, Forgot her old baptismal name, Made bare her patriot arm of power, And swell'd the discord of the hour.
Within its shade of elm and oak
The church of Berkley Manor stood; There Sunday found the rural folk,
And some esteem'd of gentle blood.
In vain their feet with loitering tread Pass'd 'mid the graves where rank is nought; All could not read the lesson taught
In that republic of the dead.
How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk,
The vale with peace and sunshine full,
Where all the happy people walk,
Deck'd in their homespun flax and wool! Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom; And every maid, with simple art,
Wears on her breast, like her own heart,
A bud whose depths are all perfume;
While every garment's gentle stir
Is breathing rose and lavender.
There, veil'd in all the sweets that are
Blown from the violet's purple bosom,
The scent of lilacs from afar,
Touch'd with the sweet shrub's spicy blossom,
Walk'd Esther; and the rustic ranks
Stood on each side, like flowery banks,
To let her pass - a blooming aisle,
Made brighter by her summer smile;
On her father's arm she seem'd to be
The last green bough of that haughty tree.
The pastor came: his snowy locks
Hallow'd his brow of thought and care;
And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks,
He led into the house of prayer.
Forgive the student Edgar there
If his enchanted eyes would roam,
And if his thoughts soar'd not beyond,
And if his heart glow'd warmly fond
Beneath his hope's terrestrial dome.
To him the maiden seem'd to stand,
Veil'd in the glory of the morn,
At the bar of the heavenly bourn,
A guide to the golden holy land.
When came the service low response, Hers seem'd an angel's answering tongue; When with the singing choir she sung, O'er all the rest her sweet notes rung, As if a silver bell were swung
'Mid bells of iron and of bronze.
At times, perchance-oh, happy chance! -
Their lifting eyes together met,
Like violet to violet,
Casting a dewy greeting glance.
For once be Love, young Love, forgiven, That here, in a bewilder'd trance,
He brought the blossoms of romance, And waved them at the gates of heaven.
The pastor rose; the prayer was strong;
The psalm was warrior David's song;
The text, a few short words of might —
"The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!"
He spoke of wrongs too long endured,
Of sacred rights to be secured;
Then from his patriot tongue of flame
The startling words for Freedom came.
The stirring sentences he spake
Compell'd the heart to glow or quake,
And, rising on his theme's broad wing,
And grasping in his nervous hand
The imaginary battle-brand,
In face of death he dared to fling
Defiance to a tyrant king.
Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed,
In eloquence of attitude,
Rose, as it seem'd, a shoulder higher;
Then swept his kindling glance of fire
From startled pew to breathless choir;
When suddenly his mantle wide
His hands impatient flung aside,
And, lo! he met their wondering eyes
Complete in all a warrior's guise.
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