THE SEARCH.
Let us seek the modest May,
She is down in the glen,
Hiding and abiding
From the common gaze of men,
Where the silver streamlet crosses
O'er the smooth stones green with mosses,
And glancing and dancing,
Goes singing on its way--
We shall find the modest maiden there to-day.
Let us seek the merry May,
She is up on the hill,
Laughing and quaffing
From the fountain and the rill.
Where the southern zephyr sprinkles,
Like bright smiles on age's wrinkles,
O'er the edges and ledges
Of the rocks, the wild flowers gay--
We shall find the merry maiden there to-day.
Let us seek the musing May,
She is deep in the wood,
Viewing and pursuing
The beautiful and good.
Where the grassy bank receding,
Spreads its quiet couch for reading
The pages of the sages,
And the poet's lyric lay--
We shall find the musing maiden there to-day.
Let us seek the mirthful May,
She is out on the strand
Racing and chasing
The ripples o'er the sand.
Where the warming waves discover
All the treasures that they cover,
Whitening and brightening
The pebbles for her play--
We shall find the mirthful maiden there to-day.
Let us seek the wandering May,
She is off to the plain,
Finding the winding
Of the labyrinthine lane.
She is passing through its mazes
While the hawthorn, as it gazes
With grief, lets its leaflets
Whiten all the way--
We shall find the wandering maiden there to-day.
Let us seek her in the ray--
Let us track her by the rill--
Wending ascending
The slopings of the hill.
Where the robin from the copses
Breathes a love-note, and then drops his
Trilling, till, willing,
His mate responds his lay--
We shall find the listening maiden there to-day.
But why seek her far away?
Like a young bird in its nest,
She is warming and forming
Her dwelling in her breast.
While the heart she doth repose on,
Like the down the sunwind blows on,
Gloweth, yet showeth
The trembling of the ray--
We shall find the happy maiden there to-day.
THE TIDINGS.
A bright beam came to my window frame,
This sweet May morn,
And it said to the cold, hard glass:
Oh! let me pass,
For I have good news to tell,
The queen of the dewy dell,
The beautiful May is born!
Warm with the race, through the open space,
This sweet May morn,
Came a soft wind out of the skies:
And it said to my heart--Arise!
Go forth from the winter's fire,
For the child of thy long desire,
The beautiful May is born!
The bright beam glanced and the soft wind danced,
This sweet May morn,
Over my cheek and over my eyes;
And I said with a glad surprise:
Oh! lead me forth, ye blessed twain,
Over the hill and over the plain,
Where the beautiful May is born.
Through the open door leaped the beam before
This sweet May morn,
And the soft wind floated along,
Like a poet's song,
Warm from his heart and fresh from his brain;
And they led me over the mount and plain,
To the beautiful May new-born.
My guide so bright and my guide so light,
This sweet May morn,
Led me along o'er the grassy ground,
And I knew by each joyous sight and sound,
The fields so green and the skies so gay,
That heaven and earth kept holiday,
That the beautiful May was born.
Out of the sea with their eyes of glee,
This sweet May morn,
Came the blue waves hastily on;
And they murmuring cried--Thou happy one!
Show us, O Earth! thy darling child,
For we heard far out on the ocean wild,
That the beautiful May was born.
The wingèd flame to the rosebud came,
This sweet May morn,
And it said to the flower--Prepare!
Lay thy nectarine bosom bare;
Full soon, full soon, thou must rock to rest,
And nurse and feed on thy glowing breast,
The beautiful May now born.
The gladsome breeze through the trembling trees,
This sweet May morn,
Went joyously on from bough to bough;
And it said to the red-branched plum--O thou,
Cover with mimic pearls and gems,
And with silver bells, thy coral stems,
For the beautiful May now born.
Under the eaves and through the leaves
This sweet May morn,
The soft wind whispering flew:
And it said to the listening birds--Oh, you,
Sweet choristers of the skies,
Awaken your tenderest lullabies,
For the beautiful May now born.
The white cloud flew to the uttermost blue,
This sweet May morn,
It bore, like a gentle carrier-dove,
The blessèd news to the realms above;
While its sister coo'd in the midst of the grove,
And within my heart the spirit of love,
That the beautiful May was born!