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 'ill 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 wov'n 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;

There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the livelong day,

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and still,

And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill,

And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance and play,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,

To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year :

To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

David Macbeth Moir.

Born 1798. Died 1851.

CASA WAPPY.*

AND hast thou sought thy heavenly home,
Our fond, dear boy-

The realms where sorrow dare not come,

Where life is joy?

Pure at thy death, as at thy birth,

The self-appellation of a beloved child.

Thy spirit caught no taint from earth,
Even by its bliss we mete our dearth,

Casa Wappy!

Despair was in our last farewell,

As closed thine eye;

Tears of our anguish may not tell,
When thou did'st die;

Words may not paint our grief for thee,

Sighs are but bubbles on the sea

Of our unfathom'd agony,

Casa Wappy!

Thou wert a vision of delight

To bless us given ;

Beauty embodied to our sight-
A type of Heaven:

So dear to us thou wert, thou art
Even less thine own self, than a part

Of mine, and of thy mother's heart,

Casa Wappy!

Thy bright, brief day knew no decline

'Twas cloudless joy;

Sunrise and night alone were thine,

Beloved boy!

This morn beheld thee blithe and gay;
That found thee prostrate in decay;
And, ere a third shone, clay was clay,

Casa Wappy!

Gem of our hearth, our household pride,
Earth's undefiled,

Could love have saved, thou had'st not died,
Our dear, sweet child!

Humbly we bow to Fate's decree;

Yet had we hoped that Time should see

Thee mourn for us, not us for thee,

Casa Wappy!

Do what I may, go where I will,
Thou meet'st my sight;

There dost thou glide before me still—
A form of light!

I feel thy breath upon my cheek,
I see thee smile, I hear thee speak,
Till oh! my heart is like to break,

Casa Wappy!

Methinks, thou smil'st before me now,
With glance of stealth ;

The hair thrown back from thy full brow
In buoyant health:

I see thine eyes' deep violet light,
Thy dimpled cheek carnation'd bright,
Thy clasping arms so round and white,

Casa Wappy!

The nursery shows thy pictured wall,
Thy bat, thy bow,

Bold Parma on the Main;
And through the deep-exulting sweep
The Thunder-Steeds of Spain.*
What meteor rides the sulphurous gale?
The Flames have caught the giant sail !
Fierce Drake† is grappling prow to prow;
God and St. George for Victory now!

Death in the Battle and the Wind-
Carnage before and Storm behind-

Wild shrieks are heard above the hurtling roar
By Orkney's rugged strands, and Erin's ruthless shore.
Joy to the Island and the Maid!

Pope Sixtus wept the Last Crusade!
His sons consumed before his zeal,—
The Monks are woeful in Castile ;
Your Monument the Main,

The glaive and gale record your tale,

Ye Thunder-Steeds of Spain !

* Thunder-steeds, the Spanish ships.

↑ Sir Francis Drake, who acted as Vice-Admiral in the action against the Spanish Armada.