of worthy man, or has doted on lovely woman, will on such a day call them tenderly to mind, and feel his heart all alive with long-buried recollections. "For thenne, says the excellent romance of King Arthur, "lovers call again to thair mynde old gentilnes and old service, and many kind dedes that were forgotten by negligence." Before reaching the village, I saw the Maypole towering above the cottages, with its gay garlands and streamers, and heard the sound of music. Booths had been set up near it for the reception of company, and a bower of green branches and flowers for the Queen of May, a fresh rosy-cheeked girl of the village.-Washington Irving. You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; There's many a black black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine; There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline; But none so fair as little Alice in all the land, they say: So 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, As I came up the valley, whom think you 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! He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white, For 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; And 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 I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May! The night winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow grass, 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, So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; 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, 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. To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day; 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! The building rook 'll caw from the windy tall elm tree, And the swallow 'll come back again with summer o'er the wave, Upon the chancel casement, and upon that grave of mine, In the early early morning the summer sun'll shine, Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill, When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light, You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade, If I can, I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place; Good night, good night-when I have said good night for evermore, She'll find my garden tools upon the granary floor: Good night, sweet mother; call me before the day is born, But I would see the sun rise upon the glad new-year, CONCLUSION. I thought to pass away before, and yet alive I am; O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies, It seem'd so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun, O blessings on his kindly voice, and on his silver hair! He show'd me all the mercy, for he taught me all the sin; I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch beat, All in the wild March morning I heard the angels call; For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie dear; I thought that it was fancy, and I listen'd in my bed, And then did something speak to me-I know not what was said; But you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not for them; it's mine!" So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I know But, Effie, you must comfort her when I am pass'd away. O look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow; O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done, For ever and for ever with those just souls and true And what is life that we should moan? why make we such ado? For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come- And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. TO A CITY PIGEON. STOOP to my window, thou beautiful dove! AMERICAN. Why dost thou sit on the heated eaves, And forsake the wood with its freshen'd leaves? When the paths of the forest are cool and sweet? This noise of people-this breezeless air? Thou alone, of the feather'd race, Dost love with man in his haunts to be; Has become a name for trust and love. A holy gift is thine, sweet bird! Thou 'rt named with Childhood's earliest word! Are its brightest image of moving things. It is no light chance. Thou art set apart Angelic rays from thy pinions stream. Come, then, ever when daylight leaves Lessons of heaven, sweet bird, in thee! CŒUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. MRS HEMANS. Henry II. eldest son of Geoffrey Plantagenet (so named from a sprig of broom-in Latin Planta genista, in French Plante genet-which he used to wear in his cap), was born at Le Mans, in March 1133; began to reign 8th Dec. 1154, and died 6th July 1189, after having reigned 343 years. The latter part of his reign was spent in opposing the rebellions of his own sons, Henry, Geoffrey, Richard, and John, who being impatient for their father's death, and urged on by their own mother, took up arms to dethrone him. They did not succeed in their purpose;-Henry (the eldest son) died of a fever; Geoffrey was killed in a tournament or mock fight at Paris; and Richard collected an army to go to Palestine to fight against Saladin, but instead of going there he led it against his own father. Henry II. being quite unprepared for this attack, was obliged to make a treaty with his son, in which it was stipulated that all the Barons who had joined Richard should be freely pardoned. The King complied with this condition; but when he saw the name of his youngest and favourite son John among the rebels, he seemed to be broken-hearted, fell ill of a fever, and died. Henry II was perhaps the ablest king that ever sat on the throne of England. The body of |