 | Poems |  |
91
THE FIRST OF MAY.
I sought her cot, at peep of day,
And tapp'd, till Echo tapp'd again;
It was the merry first of May,
And thus I breath'd a lover's strain:
Maia, my life, my soul, arise,
And shame the Heavens with those eyes!
Rise, love, the light has banish'd night,
A world of sweets
Thy coming greets,
Bright cynosure of summer skies,
Maia, my life, my soul, arise!
And tapp'd, till Echo tapp'd again;
It was the merry first of May,
And thus I breath'd a lover's strain:
Maia, my life, my soul, arise,
And shame the Heavens with those eyes!
Rise, love, the light has banish'd night,
A world of sweets
Thy coming greets,
Bright cynosure of summer skies,
Maia, my life, my soul, arise!
Rise, love, it is the first of May,
Most blest of days throughout the year!
I saw and lov'd thee on that day,
But make it still more bless'd, my dear;
Like morning, with thy thousand charms,
Oh! rise and glad thy lover's arms!
The casement gleam'd,
In sight she beam'd,
And softly sigh'd
She'd be my bride;
To church, in haste, we hied away,
And she was mine the first of May!
Most blest of days throughout the year!
I saw and lov'd thee on that day,
But make it still more bless'd, my dear;
92
Oh! rise and glad thy lover's arms!
The casement gleam'd,
In sight she beam'd,
And softly sigh'd
She'd be my bride;
To church, in haste, we hied away,
And she was mine the first of May!
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