To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

XXXIX

NEW-YEAR'S EVE

If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear, For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year.

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

The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind;

And the New-year's coming up, mother, but I shall never

see

The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.

Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day; 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:

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 'ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree, And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea,

And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'er the

wave,

But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.

Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine, In the early early morning the summer sun 'ill shine, Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill, When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is still.

When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light

You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night;

When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the

pool.

You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,

And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid.

I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you

pass,

With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant

grass.

I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me

now;

You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go; Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child.

If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place; Tho' you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your

face;

Tho' I cannot speak a word, I shall harken what you say, And be often, often with you when you think I'm far away.

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 rose-bush that I

set

About the parlour-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 morn;
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year,
So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.

XL

CONCLUSION

I THOUGHT to pass away before, and yet alive I am;
And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of the lamb.
How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year!
To die before the snowdrop came, and now the violet's
here.

O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies, And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot

rise,

And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that

blow,

And sweeter far is death than life to me that long to go.

It seem'd so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun,
And now it seems so hard to stay, and yet His will be done!
But still I think it can't be long before I find release;
And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of
peace.

O blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver hair!
And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me
there !

O blessings on his kindly heart and on his silver head!
A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside my bed.

He taught me all the mercy, for he show'd me all the sin. Now, tho' my lamp was lighted late, there's One will let me in :

Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that could be, For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for me.

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;
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, And then did something speak to me I know not what was said;

For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind, And up the valley came again the music on the wind.

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 seem'd to go right up to Heaven and die among the stars.

I trust it is. I know

So now I think my time is near.
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 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.

O look the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow; He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know. And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine

Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine.

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

The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun—
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

To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your breastAnd the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are

at rest.

XLI

THE LOTOS-EATERS

"COURAGE!" he said, and pointed toward the land, "This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon." In the afternoon they came unto a land,

In which it seemed always afternoon.

All round the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
Full-faced above the valley stood the moon ;
And like a downward smoke, the slender stream
Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.

A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke,
Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go;
And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke,
Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.

They saw the gleaming river seaward flow

From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops, Three silent pinnacles of aged snow,

Stood sunset-flush'd: and, dew'd with showery drops, Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse.

The charmed sunset linger'd low adown

In the red West: thro' mountain clefts the dale
Was seen far inland, and the yellow down
Border'd with palm, and 'many a winding vale
And meadow, set with slender galingale;

A land where all things always seem'd the same!
And round about the keel with faces pale,
Dark faces pale against that rosy flame,
The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came.

Branches they bore of that enchanted stem,
Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave
To each, but whoso did receive of them,
And taste, to him the gushing of the wave
Far far away did seem to mourn and rave
On alien shores; and if his fellow spake,
His voice was thin, as voices from the grave;
And deep-asleep he seem'd, yet all awake,
And music in his ears his beating heart did make.

They sat them down upon the yellow sand,
Between the sun and moon upon the shore;
And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland,
Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore