I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, do not call me loud, when the day begins to break : If you 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 valley, whom think ye should I see, But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree? He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday- He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 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. 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 'ill 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 'ill 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. NEW-YEAR'S EVE. If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear, 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, Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day; There's not a flower on all the hills: the frost is on the pane; 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 'ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree, And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'er the wave, Upon the chancel casement, and upon that grave of mine, When you are warm asleep, mother, and all the world is still. When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light, I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now; Good night, good night, when I have said good night for evermore, She 'll find my garden tools upon the granary floor: Let her take 'em: they are hers: I shall never garden more: Good night, sweet mother: call me before the day is born, But I would see the sun rise upon the glad new year, I CONCLUSION. thought to pass away before, and yet alive I am; And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of the lamb. It seem'd so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun, And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of peace. O blessings on his kindly voice, and on his silver hair! He showed me all the mercy, for he taught me all the sin. I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch beat, All in the wild March morning I heard the angels call; 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!" So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I know O look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow; shine O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done, And what is life, that we should moan? why make we such ado? For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come- 249.-CHARACTER OF BRUTUS. 6 G. LONG. [WE extract a Character of Brutus' from the notes to the concluding volume of The Civil Wars of Rome,' a select translation of Plutarch, from which we have already borrowed. This character will startle many of our readers. But the acknowledged learning of Mr. Long-one of the most distinguished scholars that have been sent forth from that great nursery of scholars, Trinity College, Cambridge-will satisfy the candid that this estimate of one of the great men of an tiquity is not a hasty and unsupported theory.] The character of Brutus requires a special notice. It is easy enough to write a character of a man, but not easy to write a true one. Michelet (Histoire de la Révolution Française, ii. 545), speaking of the chief actors of the Revolution in 1789, 1790, and 1791, says: "We have rarely given a judgment entire, indistinct, no portrait properly speaking; all, almost all, are unjust, resulting from a mean which is taken between this and that moment in a person's life, between the good and the bad, neutralizing the one by the other, and making both false. We have judged the acts, as they present themselves, day by day, hour by hour. We have given a date to our judgments; and this has allowed |