The great describer of our Lost Paradise did not disdain to sing a
SONG ON MAY-MORNING.
Now the bright Morning star, Day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose
Hail bounteous-May, that dost inspire
Mirth and youth and warm desire;
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill and dale do boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee and wish thee long.
Nor did the Poet of the World, William Shakespeare, hesitate to
Do observance to a morn of May.
He makes one of his characters (in King Henry VIII.) complain that it is as impossible to keep certain persons quiet on an ordinary day, as it is to make them sleep on May-day--once the time of universal merriment-- when every one was wont "to put himself into triumph."
'Tis as much impossible,
Unless we sweep 'em from the doors with cannons
To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep
On May-day Morning.
Spenser duly celebrates, in his "Shepheard's Calender,"
Thilke mery moneth of May
When love-lads masken in fresh aray,
when "all is yclad with pleasaunce, the ground with grasse, the woods with greene leaves, and the bushes with bloosming buds."