Remaining utterly confused with fears, And ever worse with growing time, And ever unrelieved by dismal tears, And all alone in crime: Shut up as in a crumbling tomb, girt round With blackness as a solid wall, Far off she seem'd to hear the dully sound Of human footsteps fall. LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE. Of me you shall not win renown: You are not one to be desired. As in strange lands a traveller walking Lady Clara Vere de Vere, I know you proud to bear your name, Your pride is yet no mate for mine, Too proud to care from whence I came. Nor would I break for your sweet sake A heart that doats on truer charms. A simple maiden in her flower Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, Some meeker pupil you must find, For were you queen of all that is, I could not stoop to such a mind. You sought to prove how I could love, And my disdain is my reply. The lion on your old stone gates Is not more cold to you than I. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, You put strange memories in my head. Not thrice your branching limes have blown Since I beheld young Laurence dead. Oh your sweet eyes, your low replies: A great enchantress you may be ; But there was that across his throat Which you had hardly cared to see. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, When thus he met his mother's view, She had the passions of her kind, She spake some certain truths of you. Indeed I heard one bitter word Her manners had not that repose Kind hearts are more than coronets, Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere. I know you, Clara Vere de Vere, Lady Clara Vere de Vere, There stands a spectre in your hall: The guilt of blood is at your door : You changed a wholesome heart to gall. You held your course without remorse, To make him trust his modest worth, And, last, you fix'd a vacant stare, And slew him with your noble birth. Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, From yon blue heavens above us bent The gardener Adam and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good. You pine among your halls and towers: The languid light of your proud eyes Is wearied of the rolling hours. In glowing health, with boundless wealth, But sickening of a vague disease, You know so ill to deal with time, You needs must play such pranks as these. Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, If Time be heavy on your hands, Are there no beggars at your gate, Nor any poor about your lands? Oh! teach the orphan-boy to read, Or teach the orphan-girl to sew, Pray Heaven for a human heart, And let the foolish yeoman go. THE MAY QUEEN. 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; 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 ye 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. They say he's dying all for love, but that can never be : They say his heart is breaking, mother—what is that to me ? 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 'ill 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 cuckoo-flowers; The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass, 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, 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 The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind; 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 wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high: 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, When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade, I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now; If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place; Goodnight, goodnight, when I have said goodnight for evermore, She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor : Goodnight, sweet mother: call me before the day is born. 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! 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. I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch beat, |