And the rivulet in the flowery dale'll merrily The building rook 'll caw from the windy tall elmglance and play, tree,

For I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow 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:

lea,

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

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

To-morrow 'll be of all the year the maddest, mer- Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave riest day, of mine,

For I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be In the early, early morning the summer sun'll queen o' the May.

NEW-YEAR'S EVE.

If you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother dear,

shine,

Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill

When you are warm asleep, mother, and all the world is still.

For I would see the sun rise upon the glad new- When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the

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 me.

waning light

You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night;

When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool

To-night I saw the sun set-he set and left be- On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulhind

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

rush in the pool.

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.

I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive

me now;

You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek

and brow;

Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild;

There's not a flower on all the hills—the frost is You should not fret for me, mother-you have

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.

another child.

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 It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave the what you say, blessed sun,

And be often, often with you when you think I'm And now it seems as hard to stay; and yet, His

far away.

Good-night! good-night! when I have said goodnight for evermore,

And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door,

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.

hair!

Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be Oh blessings on his kindly voice, and on his silver growing greenShe'll be a better child to you than ever I have And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet been.

She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor.

Let her take 'em-they are hers; I shall never garden more.

me there!

Oh blessings on his kindly heart, and on his silver head!

A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside my bed.

But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush He showed me all the mercy, for he taught me all that I set

the sin;

About the parlor-window, and the box of migno- Now, though my lamp was lighted late, there's One

How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the All in the wild March morning I heard the angels year!

call

To die before the snowdrop came, and now the It was when the moon was setting, and the dark violet's here.

Oh sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies;

And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot rise;

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.

And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers For, lying broad awake, I thought of you and Effie that blow;

dear;

And sweeter far is death than life, to me that long I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here;

to go.

Oh sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done

With all my strength I prayed for both—and so
I felt resigned,

And up the valley came a swell of music on the The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the wind.

I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in my bed;

And then did something speak to me- -I know not what was said;

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 great delight and shuddering took hold of all For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home, my mind,

And up the valley came again the music on the wind.

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

But you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not for And the wicked cease from troubling, and the

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 seemed 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 today;

But Effie, you must comfort her when I am past away.

And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret;

There's many worthier than I would make him happy yet.

If I had lived-I cannot tell- I might have been his wife;

But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life.

Oh look! the sun begins to rise! the heavens are
in a glow;

He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them
I know.

And there I move no longer now, and there his
light may shine-

Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine.

weary are at rest.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

Tommy's Dead.

You may give over plough, boys,

You may take the gear to the stead,
All the sweat o' your brow, boys,

Will never get beer and bread.
The seed's waste, I know, boys,
There's not a blade will grow, boys,
'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys,
And Tommy's dead.

Send the colt to fair, boys,

He's going blind, as I said,
My old eyes can't bear, boys,

To see him in the shed;
The cow's dry and spare, boys,
She's neither here nor there, boys,
I doubt she's badly bred;
Stop the mill to-morn, boys,
There'll be no more corn, boys,

Neither white nor red;
There's no sign of grass, boys,

You may sell the goat and the ass, boys,
The land's not what it was, boys,

And the beasts must be fed:
You may turn Peg away, boys,
You may pay off old Ned,
We've had a dull day, boys,
And Tommy's dead.

TOMMY'S DEAD.