If we should wake you from your sleep,
Good people listen now,
Our yearly festival we keep,
And bring a Maythorn bough.
An emblem of the world it grows,
The flowers its pleasures are,
But many a thorn bespeaks its woes,
Its sorrow and its care.
Oh! sleep you then, and take your rest,
And, when the day shall dawn,
May you awake in all things blest—
A May without a thorn.
And when, to-morrow we shall come
Oh! treat us not with scorn;
From out your bounty give us some—
Be May without a thorn.
May He, who makes the May to blow,
On earth his riches sheds,
Protect thee against every woe,
Shower blessings on thy heads.
After “bringing home the May,” here is another lay:—
The Mayer’s Song.
On the Mayers deign to smile,
Master, mistress, hear our song,
Listen but a little while,
We will not detain you long.
Life with us is in its spring,
We enjoy a blooming May,
Summer will its labour bring,
Winter has its pinching day.
Yet the blessing we would use
Wisely—it is reason’s part—
Those who youth and health abuse,
Fail not in the end to smart.