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Blithesome and cumberless,
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-placeO to abide in the desert with thee!
Wild is thy lay, and loud,
Far in the downy cloud;
Where, on thy dewy wing
Where art thou journeying?
O'er fell and fountain sheen,
O'er moor and mountain green,
Over the cloudlet dim,
Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!
Then, when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms,
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place 0 to abide in the desert with thee!
To the last point of vision, and beyond,
Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted strain ("Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond)
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain ;
All independent of the leafy spring.
A privacy of glorious light is thine ;
Of harmony, with rapture more divine ;
Her yet unfeathered children, whom to save
Which from the me:dow her green locks do shave,
GILES FLETCHER, 1585-1623.
WHAT, alas! will become of those luckless wights—the
future poets of Caffreland and New Zealand, of Patagonia and Pitcairn's Island—when they suddenly awake to the miserable reality that there is no May in their year.
May! The very word in itself is charming ; pleasing to the eye, falling sweetly on the ear, gliding naturally into music and song, dowered with innumerable images of beauty and delight, imaginary bliss, and natural joy. What, we ask again, will be the melancholy consequences to the southern hemisphere when they become fully conscious that they have lost the “merry month," the “soote season,” from their calendar —that with them January must forever linger in the lap of May. Conceive of Hottentot elegies and Fejee sonnets enlarging upon the balmy airs and soft skies of November ; raving about the tender young blossoms of December, and the delicate fruits of January. Will the world ever become really accustomed to such a change of key? We doubt it. After all, there is something in primogeniture ; it naturally gives all the honors of precedence. Those writers who first caught the ear of the listening earth will always have the best of it ; their successors must fain be content to yield a certain homage to long-established privileges. It will be a great while yet—at least a thousand years or so—before the Dryden of Port Sidney or the Camoens of Paraguay shall venture to say hard things of May!
Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Hail bounteous May, that dost inspire
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
EMILIA ON MAY DAY.
FROM "PALAMON AND ARCITE."
Thus year by year they pass, and day by day,