ALFRED TENNYSON.

[Alfred Tennyson was the son of Dr. Tennyson, rector of Somersby, in Lincolnshire. He is the Poet Laureate, and enjoys besides a pension of £200 a year. His chief works are "In Memoriam," "Idylls of the King," "Maud," "The Princess," and Miscellaneous Poems.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;

To-morrow 'll 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 village, whom think ye should I see, But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazeltree?

He thought of that sharp look, mother, that 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

be:

he's dying all for love, but that can never

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-morrow 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 grey,

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 'll 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,

To-morrow 'll be the happiest time of all the glad

new year;

To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

The other day I was what you would call floored by a Jew. He passed me several times, crying for old clothes in the most nasal and extraordinary tone I ever heard. At last I was so provoked, that I said to him "pray, why can't you say 'old clothes' in a plain way as I do now?" The Jew stopped, and looking very gravely at me, said in a clear and even fine accent, "Sir, I can say old clothes as well as you can; but if you had to say so ten times a minute, for an hour together, you would say och clo as I do now;" and so he marched off. I was so confounded with the justice of his retort, that I followed and gave him a shilling, the only one I had.

COLERIDGE.

If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother
dear,
For I would see the sun rise upon the glad new year.
It is the last new-year that I shall ever see,

Then you may lay me low i' the mould and think no more of me.

To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind,

And the New-year's coming up, mother, but I shall

never see

The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.

Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day;

Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May;

And we danced about the May-pole and in the hazel

copse,

Till Charlie's Wain came out above the tall white chimney tops.

There's not a flower on all the hills: the frost is on

the pane;

I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again; I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out

on high;

I long to see a flower so before the day I die.

The building rook 'll caw from the windy tall elm tree,

And the tufted plover pipe among the fallow lea, And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'er the wave,

But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.

Upon the chancel casement, and upon that grave of mine,

In the early, early morning the summer sun 'll shine,