'Tis sweet May morn; wake, drowsy girls!
Come ere the sun has stolen the pearls-
The dewy pearls-that glisten sheen
On May's soft lap, and mantle green.
Come bare-foot, come, each little lass
With crystal dew 'mong flowery grass
Bathe hands and feet, till all aglow,
And gaily o'er your shoulders throw
The shining drops, with dew-filled palm,
Lave cheek and brow, 'tis Beauty's balm.
Hail, sweet May morn? from tree and bush
The piping blackbird, singing thrush,
The lark, whose joyous carol loud
Rings from the dewy vernal cloud;
The cooing dove, the cawing rook,
The skimmers of the lake and brook,
Spring's sweetest voice- her own cuckoo-
A tuneful homage, loving true,
Are tendering at thy flowery throne,
In many a sweetly varied tone.
See, girls! the day advances, come
Light tripping o'er the daisies home,
Already is the cottage board
With creamy bowels of May-milk stored;
Rich foaming jugs-but not of ale-
Warm, fragrant, from the milk-maid's pail,
From hand to hand are circling round,
With health, and sweets delicious crowned;
Sweet simple joys, sweet balmy draught,
With health, and peace, and temperance fraught.
AULD SCOTLAN' gangs yirmin' an' chanerin' alane; She wunner's whaur a' her trig lassies ha'e gane; She's trampit the kintra, an' socht thro' the touns, An' fan' the fule hizzies-blawn oot like balloon's!
Can they be my lassies-ance cozie and cosh,
Weel shaped, weel happit, sae stumpy' an' tosh!
Twa coats an' a toush, or a goon, ye may wean,
Were boukie aneuch, wi' what nature had gi'en.
They're aye i' my e'e, an' they're aye i' my gate-
In the kirk I am chirtit maist out o' my seat;
Whan caul', to the ingle I needna gae ben,
If Kate an' her crinoline's on the fire-en'.
Whan a lad wi' a lassie forgethers yenoo,
It's no her bricht een, or her rosie wee mou',
Her snod cockernony, waist jimpy an' fine,
That first tak's his e'e-it's the big crinoline!
To sae that he likes it wad juist be a lee—
But ye ken that the big thing attracts aye the wee An' the lass that cares nocht 'bout her heart an' her heid, Tak's care that her crinoline's weel spread abreed.
An' say, if dame Nature wad gi'e at her birth,
To ilka wee lassie that's born on the yirth,
A bouk o' her ain, that grew bigger ilk year,
Ye'd no be sae prood o' the giftie I fear.
Sae aff wi' the whalebone, the cane, an' the steel!
I likna the crinoline, trouth an' atweel;
It's fule-like an' fashious, it's cheatrie an' boss"
I wad juist ha'e yere cleedin' "bien, genty, an' doss."
THERE is an element of power
That suits the needs of every hour-
All wants to which our state gives birth-
The life, the mind, the home, the hearth.
'Tis Woman. From the mother's breast The babe draws life and strength and rest; She soothes its pains, its wants supplies, With yearning love in heart and eyes.
A prudent, gentle, loving wife,
The boon most precious to the life
Of him to whom her all is given,
Save love of God, and hope of heaven.
And who shall teach the infant mind
The
way of truth and peace to find?
Who teach in wisdom's paths to tread,
But she who gives his daily bread?
A guiding star to shed and shine
Soft radiance on the household shrine,
And from her sphere-a span of earth—
Pour light and love on home and hearth.
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