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 o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' 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 o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and still,
.And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill,
And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance and
play,

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

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;

To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad NewYear:

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.

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 chimneytops.

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; Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your

face;

Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken 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 parlor-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.

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.
Oh, 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 seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun, And now it seems as 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.

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

there!

Oh, 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 showed me all the sin; Now, though 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 prayed for both, and so I felt re-
signed,

And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind.

I thought that it was fancy, and I listened 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.

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.

So now I think my time is near: I trust it is. I know
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 passed 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.

Oh, 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.

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

The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun, Forever and forever with those just souls and true

And what is life, that we should moan? why make we such

ado?

Forever and forever, 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 breast,—
And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.

TUBAL-CAIN.-CHARLES MACKAY.

Tubal-cain, an instructor of every artificer in brass and iron." Gen. IV, 22 Old Tubal-cain was a man of might

In the days when the earth was young;

By the fierce red light of his furnace bright,

The strokes of his hammer rung;

And he lifted high his brawny hand

On the iron glowing clear,

Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers

As he fashioned the sword and spear.

And he sang,

"Hurrah for my handiwork!

Hurrah for the spear and sword!

Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well!

For he shall be king and lord."

To Tubal-cain came many a one,

As he wrought by his roaring fire,

And each one prayed for a strong steel blade,

As the crown of his desire;

And he made them weapons sharp and strong,
Till they shouted loud in glee,

And gave him gifts of pearls and gold,

And spoils of forest, free.

And they sang, “Hurrah for Tubal-cain,

Who hath given us strength anew!

Hurrah for the smith! hurrah for the fire

And hurrah for the metal true!"

But a sudden change came o'er his heart

Ere the setting of the sun,

And Tubal-cain was filled with pain

For the evil he had done.

He saw that men, with rage and hate,

Made war upon their kind;

That the land was red with blood they shed

In their lust for carnage blind.

And he said, "Alas, that ever I made,

Or that skill of mine should plan

The spear and the sword, for men whose joy
Is to slay their fellow-man!"