Puslapio vaizdai

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; Of all the glad new year, mother, the maddest, merriest day: For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

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,
If you do not call me loud, when the day begins to break;
But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay,
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o'
the May.

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,
And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light.
They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say,
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o'
the May.

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

The honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy bowers, And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckooflowers;

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 of 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 '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 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


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

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


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

NOTE. We have left out a few verses in order to shorten the poem, as our space was but limited.

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.

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.

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, 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 snow-drop 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 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.

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 showed me all the mercy, for he taught 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.

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


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 seem'd 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 pass'd away.

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 breast-
And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.


1. Name her who was to be May Queen. 2. Why did she wish to be called so early on May morning?

3. Name the beauties mentioned in verse 2nd.

4. Being in good health, how did Alice sleep at night?

5. Whom saw she leaning on the bridge? 6. Why might Robin think she was a ghost?

7. What was the name of the May Queen's sister?

8. Was the May Queen chosen for her beauty?

9. In what state of health was sweet Alice on New-Year's Eve?

10. Ah! should we not always join trembling with our mirth?

11. How had matters been with her last May-day?

12. Contrast May-day and New-Year's Eve, both with regard to her, and also the appearance of nature.

13. When comes the swallow to us? 14. Where did she feel she would be then?

15. Where did she wish to be buried? 16. Is it not sad to die and leave those we love?

17. What sweet natural desire does Alice express with respect to her mother visiting her grave?

18. When in poor health, how does sleep visit the pillow?

19. Has spring arrived, and is Alice alive yet?

20. What things calls she sweet? 21. But what is sweeter than any.one of them to her?

22. Had she been willing to die at NewYear's Eve?

23. What blessings does she pour on the clergyman's head?

24. What good had the minister been the means of doing her?

25. What means she by "my lamp was lighted late"?

26. Will you read for me the parable of the ten virgins in Matt., 25 chap.

27. What merciful One will let her in? 28. Let her in, where ?

29. Relate the dream or vision she had on the "wild March morning."

30. What are the angels called in Heb. i. 14?

31. Of what did this dream or vision convince her?

32. What advice did she give Effie concerning her mother?

33. Have even young people any ground for sorrow when called to die, if they are joined to Christ?

34. Is there any safety for us poor sinners out of Jesus Christ?

35. Then, should not all flee to Jesus? 36. Shall parents and children, and teachers and pupils who die in the Lord, meet each other in glory?


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 Maus, in March 1133-began to reign Dec. 8th 1154:-died July 6th 1189, having reigned 34 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 Henry II. lay in state in the Abbey-church of Fontevraud, where it was visited by Richard Cœur de Lion, who, on beholding it, was struck with horror and remorse, and reproached himself bitterly for that rebellious conduct which had been the means of bringing his father to an untimely grave.

Bier, n.
Censer's, n.
Stole, n.

Aisle, n.

Re-pent'ant, adj.
Recked', v.
State'-li-est, adj.
Re-nowned', adj.

TORCHES were blazing clear, hymns pealing deep and slow,


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