Ay, call him by his name!
Nor fitter hand may crave

To light the flame of a soldier's fame

On the turf of a soldier's grave!

ANSWER. Campbell.

WINTER.- Burns.

THE wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain do blow;

Or the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snow;

While tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars from bank to brae ;

And bird and beast in covert rest,

And pass the heartless day.

The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,
The joyless winter day,

Let others fear,

to me more dear

Than all the pride of May;

The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,

My griefs it seems to join;

The leafless trees my fancy please,

Their fate resembles mine.

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme

These woes of mine fulfil;

Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,

Because they are Thy will!

Then all I want, (O, do Thou grant

This one request of mine!)

Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,

Assist me to resign.

ON A LEAF FROM THE TOMB OF VIRGIL. 149

LAUNCHING INTO ETERNITY.-Watts.

Ir was a brave attempt! adventurous he
Who in the first ship broke the unknown sea,
And, leaving his dear native shores behind,
Trusted his life to the licentious wind.

I see the surging brine; the tempest raves;
He on the pine-plank rides across the waves,
Exulting on the edge of thousand gaping graves ;
He steers the wingéd boat, and shifts the sails,
Conquers the flood, and manages the gales.

Such is the soul that leaves this mortal land,
Fearless, when the great Master gives command.
Death is the storm; she smiles to hear it roar,
And bids the tempest waft her from the shore;
Then with a skilful helm she sweeps the seas,
And manages the raging storm with ease;

(Her faith can govern death ;) she spreads her wings
Wide to the wind, and as she sails she sings,
And loses by degrees the sight of mortal things.
As the shores lessen, so her joys arise,

The waves roll gentler, and the tempest dies;
Now vast eternity fills all her sight,

She floats on the broad deep with infinite delight,
The seas forever calm, the skies forever bright.

ON A LEAF FROM THE TOMB OF VIRGIL. - Mrs. Hemans.

AND was thy home, pale, withered thing,
Beneath the rich blue southern sky?

Wert thou a nursling of the spring,

The winds and suns of glorious Italy?

Those suns, in golden light, e'en now
Look o'er the poet's lovely grave;
Those winds are breathing soft, but thou,

Answering their whisper, there no more shalt wave.

The flowers o'er Posilippo's* brow

May cluster in their purple bloom,

But on the o'ershadowing ilex-bough

Thy breezy place is void, by Virgil's tomb.

Thy place is void,- O, none on earth,
This crowded earth, may so remain,
Save that which souls of loftiest birth

Leave when they part, their brighter home to gain!

Another leaf ere now hath sprung

On the green stem which once was thine;

When shall another strain be sung

Like his whose dust hath made that spot a shrine ?

THE MAY QUEEN.- Tennyson.

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;

*A mountain skirting the shores of the Bay of Naples, on one of the most beautiful heights of which stands the tomb of Virgil.

THE MAY QUEEN.

151

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 gar

lands 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 hazletree?

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 De 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;