THE QUEEN OF THE MAY.
[_]
(Scotch Air.—Arranged by Mr. Barton.)
I
Can that be the maiden, the Queen of the May,
I left in the village most fair and most gay;
Whose lovers surrounded her cowslip twin'd throne,
She laughed with them all but smil'd fondly on one.
That eye now so heavy, how bright was its glance,
That lingering footstep was first in the dance,
That brow so dejected made others rejoice,
And blithe was her accent and sweet was her voice.
II
And why is the maiden so chang'd since we met?
She lov'd him, she lost him, she cannot forget.
Can sad hearts dissemble the joy that is gone?
Can death's muffled bell echo life's silver tone?
The youth was permitted to follow her form,
To guide her in sunshine, and guard her in storm;
And daily she met him, and ne'er was reprov'd,
'Till her father's reproof came too late, for they lov'd.
III
The joy of his daughter a father may chill—
Affection once kindled obeys not his will;
The torrent once suffered to deluge the plain,
We cannot recal to its channel again:
Go, cold-hearted being, exult in your sway,
From hearts you have link'd, tear each fond tie away;
Exult 'till you view the dark dwelling of death,—
Then mourn o'er the victim who slumbers beneath.
