Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the

hill,

When you are warm asleep, mother, and all the world is still.

When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light,

You'll never see me more in the long grey fields at night;

When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool

On the oat-grass and the sword-grass and the bulrush in the pool.

You'll bury me my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,

And you 'll come sometimes to see me when I am lowly laid,

I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when

you pass,

With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass.

I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me

now;

You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and

brow;

Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild,

You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child.

If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting place;

Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face,

Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you say,

And be often, often with you when you think I'm far away.

Good night, good night, when I have said good night for evermore,

And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door;

Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green:

She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been.

She'll find my garden tools upon the granary floor: Let her take 'em: they are hers: I shall never garden more:

But tell her when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush, that I set,

About the parlour window, and the box of mignonette.

Good night, sweet mother: call me before the day is born,

All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn;
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad new year,
So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother
dear.

TENNYSON'S May Queen.

SIR THOMAS MORE.

Chelsea-W. of London recreate rest and amuse contemplate-muse ancient-aged

pyramid-pile of building Tom of Bedlam—madman battlement-parapet chancellor-gov. minister

His country-house was at Chelsea, in Middlesex, where Sir John Danvers built his house. The chimneypiece of marble, in Sir John's chamber, was the chimney-piece of Sir Thomas More's chamber, as Sir John himself told ine. Where the gate is now, adorned with two noble pyramids, there stood anciently a gatehouse, which was flat on the top, leaded, from whence is a most pleasant prospect of the Thames, and the fields beyond; on this place the Lord Chancellor More was wont to recreate himself and contemplate. It happened one time that a Tom of Bedlam came up to him, and had a mind to have thrown him from the battlements, saying, "Leap, Tom. leap." The Chancellor was in his gown, and besides ancient, and not able to struggle with such a strong fellow. My Lord had a little dog with him; said he, "Let us first throw the dog down, and see what sport that will be;" so the dog was thrown over. "This is very fine sport," my lord, "fetch him up and try once more; while the madman was going down, my lord fastened the door, and called for help, but ever after kept the door shut.

said

AUBREY.

MAY QUEEN-CONCLUSION.

I thought to pass away before, and yet alive I am; And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of the lamb,

How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year; To die before the snow-drop came, and now the violet's here.

O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies,

And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot rise,

And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that blow,

And sweeter far is death than life to me that long to

go.

It seemed so hard at first, Mother, to leave the blessed

sun,

And now it seems so hard to stay, and yet His will be done.!

But still I think it can't be long before I find release; And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of peace.

O blessings on his kindly voice, and on his silver hair!

And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me there!

O blessings on his kindly heart, and on his silver head!

A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside my bed.

He showed me all the mercy, for he taught me all the sin,

Now, though my lamp was lighted late, there's One will let me in:

Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that could be,

For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for me.

I did not hear the dog howl, mother, nor the deathwatch beat,

There came a sweeter token when the night and

morning meet;

But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in

mine,

And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign.

All in the wild March morning I heard the angels call; It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all;

The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll,

And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my soul.

For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie

dear;

I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here; With all my strength I pray'd for both, and so I felt. resign'd,

And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind.

I thought that it was fancy, and I listen'd in my bed, And then did something speak to me- -I know not what was said;

For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind,

And up the valley came again the music on the wind.

But you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not for them; it's mine!"

And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for a sign.

And once again it came, and close beside the window

bars,

Then seem'd to go right up to Heaven, and die among

the stars.