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And the peeping sunbeam, now,

Paints with gold the village spire.

Philomel forsakes the thorn,

Plaintive where she prates at night; And the lark, to meet the morn,

Soars beyond the shepherd's sight.

From the low-roofed cottage ridge,

See the chatt’ring swallow spring; Darting through the one-arched bridge,

Quick she dips her dappled wing.

Now the pine-tree's waving top

Gently greets the morning gale ! Kidlings, now, begin to crop

Daisies, in the dewy dale.

From the balmy sweets, uncloyed

(Restless till her task be done), Now the busy bee's employed

Sipping dew before the sun.

Trickling through the creviced rock,

Where the limpid stream distils,



Sweet refreshment waits the flock

When tis sun-drove from the hills.

Colin, for the promised corn

(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious, hears the huntsman's horn,

Boldly sounding, drown his pipe.

Sweet,-0 sweet, the warbling throng,

On the white emblossomed spray!
Nature's universal song
Echoes to the rising day.



GET up, get up for shame! the blooming Morn
Upon her wings presents the God unshorn!

See how Aurora throws her fair
Fresh-quilted colors through the air !-

up, sweet slug-a-bed! and see
The dew bespangling herb and tree.
Each flower has wept and bowed towards the east
Above an hour since, yet you are not dressed !-

Nay, not so much as out of bed,
When all the birds have matins said,
And sung their thankful hymns: 'tis sin—

Nay, profanation, to keep in,
Whereas a thousand virgins on this day
Spring sooner than the lark, to fetch in May!

Rise! and put on your foliage, and be seen
To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green,

And sweet as Flora. Take no care
For jewels for your gown or hair;
Fear not, for the leaves will strew

Gems in abundance upon you ;-
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept:

Come, and receive them while the light
Hangs on the dew-locks of the night,
And Titan on the eastern hill

Retires himself, or else stands still
Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in

praying: Few beads are best when once we go a Maying.

Come, my Corinna! come, and coming, mark
How each field turns a street-each street a park,




and trimmed with trees !-see how
Devotion gives each house a bough
Or branch !—each porch, each door, ere this

An ark, a tabernacle is,
Made up of whitehorn neatly interwove,
As if here were those cooler shades of love.

Can such delights be in the street
And open fields, and we not see 't?
Come, we'll abroad, and let's obey

The proclamation made for May,
And sin no more, as we have done by staying,
But, my Corinna! come, let's go a Maying.

There's not a budding boy or girl this day
But is got up and gone to bring in May.

A deal of youth ere this has come
Back, and with whitehorn laden home:
Some have despatched their cakes and cream

Before that we have ceased to dream;
And some have wept, and wooed, and plighted troth,
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth;

Many a green gown has been given;
Many a kiss, both odd and even;

Many a glance, too, has been sent

From out the eye, love's firmament; Many a jest told of the key's betraying This night, and locks picked ;—yet we're not a


Come, let us go, while we are in our prime,
And take the harmless folly of the time;

We shall grow old apace and die
Before we know our liberty.
Our life is short, and our days run

As fast away as does the sun :
And as a vapor, or a drop of rain,
Once lost, can ne'er be found again,

So when or you or I are made
A fable, song, or fleeting shade,
All love, all liking, all delight,

Lies drowned with us in endless night.
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying,
Come, my Corinna! come, let's go a Maying.


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