One more ditty, a favourite in many parts of England, is homely, but there is a prettiness in its description that may reconcile it to the admirers of a "country life:"

THE MAY DAY HERD.

Now at length 'tis May-day morn,
And the herdsman blows his horn;
Green with grass the common now,
Herbage bears for many a cow.

Too long in the straw yard fed,
Have the cattle hung their head,
And the milk did well nigh fail,
The milk-maid in her ashen pail.

Well the men have done their job,
Every horn has got its knob ;
Nor shall they each other gore,
Not a bag, or hide, be tore.

Yet they first a fight maintain,
Till one cow the mastery gain;
They, like man, for mastery strive,
They by others' weakness thrive.

Drive them gently o'er the lawn,
Keep them from the growing corn;
When the common they shall gain,
Let them spread wide o'er the plain.

Show them to the reedy pool,
There at noon their sides they'll cool,
And with a wide whisking tail,
Thrash the flies as with a flail.

Bring them gently home at eve,
That their bags they may relieve,
And themselves of care divest,
Chew the cud and take their rest.

Now the dairy maid will please,
To churn her butter, set her cheese;
We shall have the clotted cream,
The tea-table's delightful theme.

Raise the song, then, let us now,
Sing the healthful, useful cow,
England well the blessing knows,
A land with milk that richly flows.

May-day is a Spring day.

Spring-"the innocent spring," is the firstling of revolving nature; and in the first volume, is symbolized by an infant. In that engraving there is a sort of appeal to parental feeling; yet an address more touching to the heart is in the following little poem:—

A Mother to her First-born,

"Tis sweet to watch thee in thy sleep,

When thou, my boy, art dreaming;
"Tis sweet, o'er thee a watch to keep,
To mark the smile that seems to creep
O'er thee like daylight gleaming.
'Tis sweet to mark thy tranquil breast.
Heave like a small wave flowing;
To see thee take thy gentle rest,
With nothing save fatigue opprest,
And health on thy cheek glowing.
To see thee now, or when awake,

Sad thoughts, alas! steal o'er me
For thou, in time, a part must take,
That may thy fortunes mar or make,
In the wide world before thee.

But I, my child, have hopes of thee,

And may they ne'er be blighted !—
That I, years hence, may live to see
Thy name as dear to all as me,

Thy virtues well requited.

I'll watch thy dawn of joys, and mould
Thy little mind to duty-
I'll teach thee words, as I behold
Thy faculties like flowers unfold,
In intellectual beauty.

And then, perhaps, when I am dead,

And friends around me weeping-
Thoul't see me to my grave, and shed
A tear upon my narrow bed,

Where I shall then be sleeping!

BARTON WIlford.

The Maypole nearest to the metropolis, that stood the longest within the recollection of the editor, was near Kennington-green, at the back of the houses, at the south corner of the Workhouselane, leading from the Vauxhall-road to Elizabeth-place. The site was then nearly vacant, and the Maypole was in the field on the south side of the Workhouse-lane, and nearly opposite to the Black Prince public-house. It remained till about the year 1795, and was much frequented, particularly by milk maids.

A delightfully pretty print of a merrymaking "round about the Maypole," supplies an engraving on the next page illustrative of the prevailing tendency of this work, and the simplicity of rural manners. It is not so sportive as the dancings about the Maypoles near London formerly; there is nothing of the boisterous rudeness which must be well remembered by many old Londoners on Mayday.

The Jack-o'-the-Greens would sometimes come into the suburbs of London, and amuse the residents by rustic dancing. The last of them, that I remember, were at the Paddington May-dance, near the "Yorkshire Stingo," about twenty years ago, from whence, as I heard, they diverged to Bayswater, Kentish-town, and adjoining neighbourhoods. A Jack-o'the-Green always carried a long walking stick with floral wreaths; he whisked it about in the dance, and afterwards walked with it in high estate like a lord mayor's

On this first of the month we cannot pass the poets without listening to their carols, as we do, in our walks, to the songs of the spring birds in their thickets. VOL. II.-71.

Here they are. The word morning in the first line, as it is repeated in the

second, we are bound to consider as a slip of the pen; perhaps for mounting.

The morning-lark, the messenger of day,
Saluteth in her song the morning gray;

And soon the sun arose with beams so bright,
That all the horizon lauglied to see the joyous sight:
He with his tepid rays the rose renews,

And licks the drooping leaves, and dries the dews;
When Arcite left his bed, resolv'd to pay
Observance to the month of merry May:
Forth on his fiery steed betimes he rode,
That scarcely prints the turf on which he trod :
At ease he seemed, and prancing o'er the plains,
Turned only to the grove his horses' reins,
The grove I named before; and, lighted there,
A woodbine garland sought to crown his hair :
Then turned his face against the rising day,
And raised his voice to welcome in the May:

"For thee, sweet month, the groves green liveries wear,
If not the first, the fairest of the year:

For thee the Graces lead the dancing hours,
And Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers:
When thy short reign is past, the feverish sun
The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly on.
So may thy tender blossoms fear no blight,
Nor goats with venom'd teeth thy tendrils bite,
As thou shalt guide my wandering steps to find
The fragrant greens I seek, my brows to bind."
His vows address'd, within the grove he stray'd.

"How poor," says Mr. Hunt," is this to Arcite's leaping from his courser with a lusty heart,' How inferior the commonplace of the 'fiery steed,' which need not involve any actual notion in the writer's mind, to the courser starting as the fire;'-how inferior the turning his face to the rising day,' and raising his voice,' to the singing loud against the sunny sheen; and lastly, the whole learned invocation and adjuration of May, about guiding his wandering steps' and 'so may thy tender blossoms &c. to the call upon the fair fresh May, ending with that simple, quick-hearted line, in which he hopes he shall get some green here;' a touch in the happiest taste of the Italian vivacity. Dryden's genius, for the most part, wanted faith in nature. It was too gross and sophisticate. There was as much difference between him and his original, as between a hot noon in perukes

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at St. James's, and one of Chaucer's
lounges on the grass, of a May morning.
All this worship of May is over now.
There is no issuing forth in glad compa-
nies to gather boughs; no adorning of
houses with the flowery spoil;' no
songs, no dances, no village sports and
coronations, no courtly-poetries, no sense
and acknowledgment of the quiet pre-
sence of nature, in grove or glade.

O dolce primavera, o fior novelli,
O aure o arboscelli, o fresche erbette,
O piagge benedette, o colli o monti,
O valli o fiumi o fonti o verde rivi,
Palme lauri ed olive, edere e mirti;
O gloriosi spirti de gli boschi ;
O Eco, o antri foschi o chiare linfe,
O faretrate ninfe o agresti Pani,
O Satiri e Silvani, o Fauni e Driadi,
Naiadi ed Amadriadi, o Semidee,
Oreadi e Napee,—
-or siete sole.

O thou delicious spring, O ye new flowers,

O airs, O youngling bowers; fresh thickening grass,
And plains beneath heaven's face; O hills and mountains,
Vallies, and streams, and fountains; banks of green,

Myrtles, and palms serene, ivies, and bays;

And ye who warmed old lays, spirits o' the woods,
Echoes, and solitudes, and lakes of light;

Sannazzaro.