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Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

Some meeker pupil you must find, For were you queen of all that is,

I could not stoop to such a mind. You sought to prove how I could love,

And my disdain is my reply. The lion on your old stone gates

Is not more cold to you than I.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

You put strange memories in my head. Not thrice your branching limes have blown

Since I beheld young Laurence dead. Oh your sweet eyes, your low replies :

A great enchantress you may be ; But there was that across his throat

Which you had hardly cared to see.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

When thus he met his mother's view, She had the passions of her kind,

She spake some certain truths of you. Indeed I heard one bitter word

That scarce is fit for you to hear ; Her manners had not that repose

Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

There stands a spectre in your hall : The guilt of blood is at your door :

You changed a wholesome heart to gall. You held your course without remorse,

To make him trust his modest worth, And, last, you fix'd a vacant stare,

And slew him with your noble birth.

Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere,

From yon blue heavens above us bent The gardener Adam and his wife

Smile at the claims of long descent, Howe'er it be, it seems to me,

'Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets,

And simple faith than Norman blood.

I know you, Clara Vere de Vere,

You pine among your halls and towers : The languid light of your proud eyes

Is wearied of the rolling hours.
In glowing health, with boundless wealth,

But sickening of a vague disease,
You know so ill to deal with time,

You needs must play such pranks as these. Clara, Clara Vere de Vere,

If Time be heavy on your hands, Are there no beggars at your gate,

Nor any poor about your lands? Oh! teach the orphan-boy to read,

Or teach the orphan-girl to sew, Pray Heaven for a human heart,

And let the foolish yeoman go.

THE MAY QUEEN.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother

dear; To-morrow ’ill be the happiest time of all the glad New

year; Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest

day; For I'm to be Queen o’the May, mother, I'm to be

Queen o' the May.

There's many a black black eye, they say, but none so

bright as mine; There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline : But none so fair as little Alice in all the land they say, So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be

Queen o' the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never

wake, If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break : But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and

garlands gay, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be

Queen o' the May.

As I came up the valley whom think ye should I see, But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree i He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him

yesterday,– But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be

Queen o’ the May.

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white, And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light. They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they

say, For I'm to be Queen oʻthe May, mother, I'm to be

Queen o' the May.

They say he's dying all for love, but that can never be : They say his heart is breaking, mother-what is that

to me? There's many a bolder lad ’ill woo me any summer day, And I'm to be Queen o'the May, mother, I'm to be

Queen o' the May.

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green, And you'll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen;

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