Verstegan affirms of the Anglo-Saxons, that “the pleasant moneth of May they termed by the name of Trimilki, because in that moneth they began to milke their kine three times in the day.”
Scarcely a poet but praises, or describes, or alludes to the beauties of this month. Darwin sings it as the offspring of the solar beams, and invites it to approach and receive the greetings of the elemental beings:—
Born in yon blaze of orient sky,
Sweet May! thy radiant form unfold;
Unclose thy blue voluptuous eye,
And wave thy shadowy locks of gold.
For thee the fragrant zephyrs blow,
For thee descends the sunny shower;
The rills in softer murmurs flow,
And brighter blossoms gem the bower.
Light Graces dress’d in flowery wreaths,
And tiptoe Joys their hands combine;
And Love his sweet contagion breathes,
And laughing dances round thy shrine.
Warm with new life, the glittering throng
On quivering fin and rustling wing
Delighted join their votive songs,
And hail thee, goddess of the spring.
One of Milton’s richest fancies is of this month; he says, that Adam, discoursing with Eve—
Smil’d with superior love; as Jupiter
On Juno smiles, when he impregns the clouds
That shed May-flowers.
Throughout the wide range of poetic excellence, there is no piece of higher loveliness than his often quoted, yet never tiring
Song on May Morning.