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• Yet pull not down my palace towers, Lady Clara Vere de Vere, that are
When thus he met his mother's view, So lightly, beautifully built :
She had the passions of her kind, Perchance I may return with others there She spake some certain truths of you. When I have purged my guilt.' Indeed I heard one bitter word
That scarce is fit for you to hear ;
Her manners had not that repose LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE.
Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere. LADY Clara Vere de Vere,
Lady Clara Vere de Vere, Of me you shall not win renown : There stands a spectre in your hall : You thought to break a country heart The guilt of blood is at your door : For pastime, ere you went to town.
You changed a wholesome heart to gall. At me you smiled, but unbeguiled You held your course without remorse, I saw the snare, and I retired :
To make him trust his modest worth, The daughter of a hundred Earls,
And, last, you fix'd a vacant stare, You are not one to be desired.
And slew him with your noble birth. Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
Clara Vere de Vere, I know you proud to bear your name, From yon blue heavens above us bent Your pride is yet no mate for mine,
The gardener Adam and his wife Too proud to care from whence I came.
Smile at the claims of long descent. Nor would I break for your sweet sake Howe'er it be, it seems to me, A heart that doats on truer charms.
'Tis only noble to be good. A simple maiden in her flower
Kind hearts are more than coronets, Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms.
And simple faith than Norman blood. Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
I know you, Clara Vere de Vere, Some meeker pupil you must find, You pine among your halls and towers : For were you queen of all that is, The languid light of your proud eyes
I could not stoop to such a mind. Is wearied of the rolling hours. You sought to prove how I could love,
In glowing health, with boundless wealth, And my disdain is my reply.
But sickening of a vague disease, The lion on your old stone gates
You know so ill to deal with time, Is not more cold to you than I.
You needs must play such pranks as
these. Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
You put strange memories in my head. Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, Not thrice your branching limes have If time be heavy on your hands, blown
Are there no beggars at your gate, Since I beheld young Laurence dead. Nor any poor about your lands? Oh your sweet eyes, your low replies : Oh! teach the orphan-boy to read, A great enchantress you may be ;
Or teach the orphan-girl to sew, But there was that across his throat Pray Heaven for a human heart,
Which you had hardly cared to see. 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 ? 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 o' the 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-inorrow to the green, And you'll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen ; For the shepherd lads on every side ’ill come from far away, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. The honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy bowers, And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers ; And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass, And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass ; There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the livelong day, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and still, And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill, And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance and play, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May
So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,
If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear,
The building rook 'll caw from the windy tall elm-tree,
Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine,
When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light
Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild,
If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place ;
Goodnight, goodnight, when I have said goodnight for evermore,
She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor :
I THOUGHT to pass away before, and yet alive I am ;
O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies,
It seem'd so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun,
O blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver hair !
I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch beat,
All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call ;
For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie dear ;
I thought that it was fancy, and I listen'd in my bed,
So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I know
And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret ;
O look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow ;
O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done
For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home-