I could have staid of mine own will,
In truth, my eye and heart to fill

With the sweet sight which I saw there,
At the dwelling of the cottager.

A little in the doorway sitting,
The mother plied her busy knitting;
And her cheek so softly smiled,
You might be sure, although her gaze
Was on the meshes of the lace,

Yet her thoughts were with her child.

But when the boy had heard her voice,
As o'er her work she did rejoice,
His became silent altogether;
And slyly creeping by the wall,
He seized a single plume, let fall

By some wild bird of longest feather,
And all a-tremble with his freak,
He touched her lightly on the cheek.

O, what a loveliness her eyes

Gather in that one moment's space, While peeping round the post she spies Her darling's laughing face! O, mother's love is glorifying, On the cheek like sunset lying; In the eyes a moistened light, Softer than the moon at night!

Thomas Burbidge.

THE MAY QUEEN.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;

To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the blithe 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 ye do not call me loud, when the day begins to

break;

For 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 ye I should

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 o'

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.

They say he's dying all for love,- but that can never be ;

They say his heart is breaking, mother,—but what is that to me?

There's many a bolder lad'll woo me, any summer day,

And 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;

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 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 o' 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, '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 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 'll be the happiest time of all the blithe 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.

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 ye may lay me low in the mould, and think no more o' me.