May

“ Then let us welcome pleasant spring,
And still the flowery tribute bring,
And still to thee our carol sing,
O lovely May!
Mrs. Hemans.
JUNE.
Come, June! and with beauty fill the earth.
Long have we waited for thy clear blue sky;
Though May is sweet she lacks thy constancy,
And chilly winds oft break the glad world's mirth. ”

“ May. You act too warmly, sir.
Edmund. I do not act at all; I am myself.
May. Nay, then, I think you are beside yourself.
Be moderate, sir.—You uttered only words;
And words are breath; and then, a lover's breath!
Hot, gasping, poisonous air!
Edmund. O no, my May!
Love's breath is hot and healthy as the breeze
That floats the summer from the sunny south,
With merry crews of nightingales and swallows,
As sweet and swift as are the words of love.
May. O words and songs and sounds are merely stones,
When love is as an empty hungry gulf. ”

“ It was May; bright, sunny, perfumed May. The hawthorn hedges on the ridge of the croft were white with scented blossoms, and the Irk—not the muddled stream which improvement (?) is fast shutting out of remembrance—went on its dimpled way, smiling at the promise of the season. The echoes of the May-day milkcart bells, and the flutter of their decorative ribbons, were dying out of all but infantile remembrance;—the month was more than a fortnight old.
It was 1802, and Jabez was almost three years old. ”

“ One of the rarest treasures of the May time is the richness and purity of the sky. The winter wraps the heavens in robes of somber hue as though in mourning for the summer dead; but at the coming of the first white cloud, and sound of first lark’s song, the sky seems to melt in tenderness, and assume the softest, richest hue of blue. ”

“ The rich sweet pea, the iris blue, The larkspur with its peacock hue; All these are fair, yet hold I will That the Rose of May is fairer still. 'Tis grand 'neath palace walls to grow, To blaze where lords and ladies go; To hang o'er marble founts, and shine In modern gardens, trim and fine; But the Rose of May is only seen Where the great of other days have been. The house is mouldering stone by stone, The garden-walks are overgrown; The flowers are low, the weeds are high, The fountain-stream is choked and dry, The dial-stone with moss is green, Where'er the Rose of May is seen. ”

“ When May has spent its little song, And richer comes the June, Through former eyes the heart will long For May again in tune; Though large with promise hope may be, By future visions cast, Our memoried thoughts will yearn to see The happy little past. ”

“ Other months are cold and gray, Some are bright, but what are they? Earth may take the whole eleven-- Hopeful May--happy May! Thine the borrowed month of heaven Cometh thence and points the way. Wingèd minstrels come and play Through the woods their roundelay; Who can tell but only thou, Spirit-ear'd, inspirèd May, On the bud-embow'rèd bough What the happy lyrists say? Is the burden of their lay Love's desire, or Love's decay? Are there not some fond regrets Mix'd with these, divinest May, For the sun that never sets Down the everlasting day? ”

“ It is to May and June what “sweet fifteen,” in the age of woman, is to the passion-stricken eighteen, and perfect two-and-twenty. It is to the confirmed Summer, what the previous hope of joy is to the full fruition—what the boyish dream of love is to love itself. It is, indeed, the month of promises—and what are twenty performances compared with one promise? April, then, is worth two Mays, because it tells tales of May in every sigh that it breathes, and every tear that it lets fall. ”

“ Heavenly thou art, nor less should be-- O lovely May! O long'd-for May! The favour'd forms that wait on thee. The moss to guard thy feet is spread, The wreaths are woven for thy head, The rosy curtains of thy bed Become transparent in the blaze Of the strong sun's resistless gaze: Then lady, make no more delay, The world still lives, though spring be dead-- O lovely May! O long'd-for May! And thou must rule and reign instead. The lady from her bed arose, Her bed the leaves the moss-bud blows Herself a lily in that rose ”

“ For the May bloometh fair, And there's little of care, And plenty to eat in the Maytime rare. When the flowers all die, Then off he will fly, To keep himself warm In some jolly old barn Where the snow and the wind neither chill him nor harm. "And such is the life of the strolling friar, With aplenty to eat and to drink; For the goodwife will keep him a seat by the fire, And the pretty girls smile at his wink. Then he lustily trolls As he onward strolls, A rollicking song for the saving of souls. ”

“ They bounded by the happy Queen of May!
Though years have past, and time has strewn
My raven locks with flakes of gray,
Fond memory brings the hours
Of birds and blossom-showers,
When in girlhood I was crowned the Queen of May! ”

“ Now that thou art come again, We perchance may make thee stay. Welcome, May! welcome, May! Everything kept holiday Save the human heart alone. Mirthful May! gladsome May! We had cares and thou hadst none When thou camest last this way! When thou camest last this way Blossoms bloomed on every spray, Buds on barren boughs were born-- Fertile May! fruitful May! Like the rose upon the thorn Cannot grief awhile be gay? 'Tis not for the golden ray, Or the flowers that strew thy way, O immortal One! thou art Here to-day, gentle May-- 'Tis to man's ungrateful heart That thy fairy footsteps stray. ”

“ With Her Sunshine, Breeze and Dew
JOYOUS May has come again
With her sunshine, breeze and dew,
Holding up her silken train,
See the blossoms, sweet and new.
Here a yellow primrose shows
All the world a heart of gold,
There a scarlet tulip glows,
By the breeze made overbold.
Joyous May, we welcome you,
Welcome you and all you bring,
Skies so shining and so blue,
Birds to twitter and to sing,
Children on the green to play,
Blushing maid, and eager swain,
At your coming, joyous May,
All the world grows young again. ”

“ The perfect work of May is done: Hard by a new perfection waits:— The twain, a sister and a nun, A moment parley at the grates. The whiter Spirit turns in peace To hide her in the cloistral shade:— 'Tis time that you should also cease, Slight carols in her honour made. ”

“ A soft May moon steals above the eastern horizon, and gilds with radiant luster the brow of night. Gentle May zephyrs from their airy home glide over the earth, kissing the lips of the rose, and the tender cheek of the hedge-row violet. Young and tender May leaves whisper to each other tales of love, away, away, in the dark old forests. ”

“ But should the banner-staff of Merry Mount be fortunate, sunshine would break upon the hills, and flowers would beautify the forest, and late posterity do homage to the May-Pole!
After these authentic passages from history, we return to the nuptials of the Lord and Lady of the May. Alas! we have delayed too long, and must darken our tale too suddenly. As we glance again at the May-Pole, a solitary sun-beam is fading from the summit, and leaves only a faint golden tinge, blended with the hues of the rainbow banner. ”

“ The grass was green and soft, and the birds rose through the air on fluttering wings, singing and rejoicing, and the clouds floated over them as only clouds in May can float, quickly, hopefully, with a dash of changeful April in them—not like those of August: for the May cloud is a maiden, a child, full of life and joy, running and playing, and looking playfully back at the winds as they rustle on—not August-like—a thoughtful ripened beauty, large, lazy, and contemplative, whose spring of youth has passed, whose summer has arrived, in all its wealth, and power, and languid splendor. ”

“ They who reared it, should their banner be triumphant, were to pour sunshine over New England’s rugged hills and scatter flower-seeds throughout the soil. Jollity and gloom were contending for an empire. Midsummer eve had come, bringing deep verdure to the forest, and roses in her lap of a more vivid hue than the tender buds of spring. But May, or her mirthful spirit, dwelt all the year round at Merry Mount, sporting with the summer months and revelling with autumn and basking in the glow of winter’s fireside. ”

“ The early sun was shining on as beautiful a morning of the merry month of May as ever lover dreamed or poet sang, over a gentle pastoral scene in the sunny land of France. It was a little winding dale between soft, sloping hills, covered with the tenderest spring verdure, and dotted with small brakes and thickets of hawthorn and sweet-brier; the former all powdered over, as if by a snowstorm, with their sweet, white blossoms, and the others exhaling their aromatic perfume from every dew-spangled bud and leaflet. ”

“ Till once, ’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. ”

“ And snows hide all the wealth of May.
How can we stay much longer here?
Each day the sun becomes more pale,
The dim horizon more austere,
And earth more dreary in her mail.
God gave us wings and made us free ”

“ O' eerie dull and pain,
And pines to gang the gate, sweet May,
That its first luve hath gane!
Although the form is here, sweet May,
The spirit is na sae;
It wanders to anither land—
A far and lonely way. ”

“ In May, when every lusty heart flourisheth and bourgeoneth,—for as winter, with its rough winds and blasts, causes man and woman to cover and sit fast by the fire, this fresh and joyous season brings them forth to gladden in the coming of the flowery summer,—in this rare month of May, when only merry thoughts and gentle deeds should be known, there began a great and unhappy season of wrath, which ended not till the flower of chivalry of all the world was destroyed. ”

“ Stir not a clout, Till May be out, would seem to prove that in ancient times, as well as at present, May was by no means so genial a month, as it has pleased certain personages to represent it. Nevertheless, we know that every now and then in May, comes in a warm and summer-like day, bright, and soft, and beautiful, full of a tempered sunshine, appearing after the cold days of winter, like joy succeeding sorrow, and entendered by the memories of the past, such was the sort of day upon which the traveller we have spoken of rode on upon his way through a very fair and smiling country. ”

“ It is rarely now in England, too, that we have any title to call it the merry, merry month of May, for, very often, cold and piercing are the winds, sad the sleet and rain; and, for one of the bright and glorious days of summer, we have a multitude of the dark and shadowy ones of winter. ”

“ It was the month of May—that sweet season when all nature seems to submit itself to the tender inclinings of love; when not only the shy birds of the air, but the chased creatures of the earth—alike tamed and emboldened by its influence—stray beyond the safety of their coverts in pursuit of those pleasures at other seasons denied them. ”

“ It is not always cold on a May-day even in the north of England. I have a vivid remembrance of at least one which was most balmy; and, when they are warm enough for out-door enjoyment, the early days of the year seem, like the early hours of the day, to have an exquisite freshness peculiarly their own. Then the month of May, as a whole, is certainly the month of flowers in the woods and fields. Autumn is the gayest season of the garden, but Spring and early Summer give us the prettiest of the wild-flowers. ”

“ We pull our wrappings about us and go home. April past, we then fancy that her older sister, May, beautiful in literary imagery—for do we not recall descriptive visions of May days of long ago, when the human blossoms danced about the May pole, lolled luxuriantly in the soft, tender grass, hid themselves in the deep-leaved trees, and at last gratified our imaginations with the belief that she is altogether perfect? ”

“ May is the most beautiful of all months. Then it is, that all nature seems to awaken from its winter slumbers. The grass springs up, the little birds sing and chirp, and display their beautiful plumage. ”

“ There is sense in our First o' May, chummy, hope from our First o' May.
The Governments are a-gog, brother, Figaro owns as much;
Property quakes when the countless hands of Labour are in touch.
And from Bermondsey to Budapest they are in touch to-day,
Linked for the Feast of May, brother, linked for the Feast of May!
So we must wake and turn out early, bright and early, comrade, dear;
To-morrow'll be the grandest day of all the green New Year;
To-morrow'll be of all the year the maddest merriest day,
For Toil's to be Queen o' the May, brother. Labour is Queen o' th's May! ”

“ You should see the sun come up on a May morning. The dawn is always a wonderful sight, but never at other times attended with quite the glory, with quite the music, with quite the sweet fragrance, with quite the wonder of a morning in May. ”

“ May is here, the air is full of the greenness of leaves and the songs of birds, the lank rose trees are budding on the Gothic walls, and when I breathe the fragrant air and look about me I rub my eyes, and wonder whether May was ever so beautiful at home. ”

“ 'T is May again, another May,
Looking as if it meant to stay;
So many are its thousand flowers,
So glorious are its sunny hours,
So green its earth, so blue its sky,
As made for hope's eternity. ”