Mirth we love—the proverb says,
Be ye merry but be wise,
We will walk in wisdom’s ways,
There alone true pleasure lies.
May, that now is in its bloom,
All so fragrant and so fair,
When autumn and when winter come,
Shall its useful berries bear.
We would taste your home-brew’d beer,—
Give not, if we’ve had enough,—
May it strengthen, may it cheer,
Waste not e’er the precious stuff.
We of money something crave,
For ourselves we ask no share,
John and Jane the whole shall have,
They’re the last new married pair.
May it comfort to them prove,
And a blessing bring to you;
Blessings of connubial love,
Light on all like morning dew.
So shall May, with blessings crown’d,
Welcom’d be by old and young,
Often as the year comes round,
Shall the May-day song be sung.
Fare ye well, good people all,
Sweet to-night may be your rest,
Every blessing you befall,
Blessing others you are blest.
As the day advances, a ballad suitable to the “village sports” is sung by him who has the honour to crown his lass as the “May-day queen.”—
The Wreath of May.
This slender rod of leaves and flowers,
So fragrant and so gay,
Produce of spring’s serener hours,
Peculiarly is May.