accustomed to such a change of key? We doubt it.
After all, there is something in primogeniture; it naturally gives all the honors of precedence. Those writers who first caught the ear of the listening earth will always have the best of it; their successors must fain be content to yield a certain homage to long-established privileges. It will be a great while yet-at least a thousand years or so-before the Dryden of Port Sidney or the Camoens of Paraguay shall venture to say hard things of May!
Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flow'ry 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 doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long!
FROM "PALAMON AND ARCITE."
Thus year by year they pass, and day by day,
'twas on the morn of cheerful May,
The young Emilia, fairer to be seen
Than the fair lily on the flowery green
More fresh than May herself in blossoms new—
For with the rosy color strove her hue-
Waked, as her custom was, before the day,
To do th' observance due to sprightly May:
For sprightly May commands our youth to keep
The vigils of her nights, and breaks their sluggard sleep
Each gentle breath with kindly warmth she moves;
Inspires new flames, revives extinguished loves.
In this remembrance, Emily, ere day,
Arose, and dress'd herself in rich array;
Fresh as the month, and as the morning fair,
Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair;
A ribbon did the braided tresses bind,
The rest was loose, and wanton'd in the wind,
Aurora had but newly chas'd the night,
And purpled o'er the sky with blushing light,
When to the garden walk she took her way
To sport and trip along in cool of day,
And offer maiden vows in honor of the May.
At every turn she made a little stand,
And thrust among the thorns her lily hand,
To draw the rose; and every rose she drew,
She shook the stalk, and brush'd away the dew;
Then parti-colored flowers of white and red
She wove, to make a garland for her head:
This done, she sung and carrol'd out so clear,
That men and angels might rejoice to hear:
Our wandering Philomel forgot to sing,
And learned from her to welcome in the spring.
FROM THE MASQUE OF THE PENATES."
If every pleasure were distilled
Of every flower in every field,
And all that Hybla's hives do yield,
Were into one broad mazer filled;
If thereto added all the gums
And spice that from Panchaïs comes,
The odor that Hydaspes lends,
Or Phoenix proves before she ends;
If all the air my Flora drew,
Or spirit that Zephyr ever blew,
Were put therein; and all the dew
That every rosy morning knew;
Yet all diffused upon this bower,
To make one sweet detaining hour,
Were much too little for the grace
And honor you vouchsafe the place;
But if you please to come again,
We vow we will not then with vain
And empty pastimes entertain
Your so desired, though grieved, pain;
For we will have the wanton fawns,
That frisking skip about the lawns,
The Panisks and the Sylvans rude,
Satyrs, and all that multitude,
To dance their wilder rounds about,
To cleave the air with many a shout,
As they would hunt poor Echo out
Of yonder valley, who doth flout,
Their rustic noises, to visit whom,
You shall behold whole bevies come
Of gaudy nymphs, whose tender calls
Well tuned unto the many falls
Of sweet and several sliding rills,
That stream from tops of those less hills,
Like so many silver quills,
When Zephyr them with music fills.
For them Favonius here shall blow
New flowers, that you shall see to grow-
Of which each hand a part shall take,
And for your heads fresh garlands make,
Wherewith, while they your temples round,
An air of several birds shall sound
An Io Pæon, that shall drown
The acclamation at your crown.
All this, and more than I have give gift of saying,
May vows, so you will oft come here a Maying.
FROM THE GERMAN OF THE MINNESINGERS.
Up, up! let us greet
The season so sweet,
For winter is gone,
And the flowers are springing,
And little birds singing,
Their soft notes ringing,
And bright is the sun!
Where all was dressed
In a snowy vest;
There grass is growing,
With dew-drops glowing,
And flowers are seen
On beds of green.
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