ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



105 



MAY DAY. 



OH. 'tis bland, and oh, 'tis blooming, for it's May ; 

 Could there be a more delightful season, pray ? 

 How the sunbeams skip and scatter, 

 And the sparrows chirp and chatter, 

 And the sweetly scented breezes softly stray ! 

 And we're gladsome, and we're gleeful, and we're gay, 

 And we're highly happy-hearted, 

 For we're blithely briskly started 

 For a joyful, jocund, jolly holiday. 



And oh, 'tis glum and gloomy, though 'tis May ! 

 Could there be a more distracting season, say? 

 We must hustle, we must hurry, 

 In a flutter and a flurry, 

 For the sky is direly dark and grimly gray, 

 And we'll have to hasten home the shortest way ; 

 And we scuttle and we scamper! 

 What a doleful, dismal damper! 

 What a dreary, drizzly, dreadful holiday ! 

 St. Nicholas, 1 888. EMMA A. OPPER. 



EVE'S LAMENTATION. 



MUST I thus leave thee Paradise ! thus leave 

 Thee, native soil ! these happy walks and shades, 

 Fit haunt of Gods ! where I had hoped to spend, 

 Quiet though sad, the respite of that day 

 That must be mortal to us both ! O flow'rs. 

 That never will in other climate grow, 

 My early visitation, and my last 

 At e'en, which I bred up with tender hand 

 From the first opening bud, and gave ye names, 

 Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank 

 Your tribes, and water from th' ambrosial fount ? 

 The lastly, nuptial bower ! by me adorn 'd 

 With what to sight or smell was sweet, from thee 

 How shall I part, and whither wander down 

 Into a lower world, to this obscure 

 And wild ? How shall we breathe in other air, 

 Less pure, accustom'd to immortal fruits? 



MILTON'S " Paradise Lost. 



