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 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, CORINNA'S GOING A MAYING. 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, O sweet, the warbling throng, Echoes to the rising day. JOHN CUNNINGHAM. CORINNA'S GOING A MAYING. GET up, get up for shame! the blooming Morn The dew bespangling herb and tree. Each flower has wept and bowed towards the east Nay, not so much as out of bed, When all the birds have matins said, And sung their thankful hymns: 'tis sin- 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 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, 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, CORINNA'S GOING A MAYING. 31 Made green, and trimmed with trees!-see how Or branch!—each porch, each door, ere this Made up of whitehorn neatly interwove, As if here were those cooler shades of love. And open fields, and we not see 't? And sin no more, as we have done by staying, There's not a budding boy or girl this day A deal of youth ere this has come 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 Maying! Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, And take the harmless folly of the time; 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. HERRICK. |