THE QUEEN OF MAY. 
135 
can for ever exist without the alloy of pain ; for as a 
brief separation enhances the happiness and anticipa¬ 
tion of the meeting — as a gentle shower throws a rich¬ 
er odor over the summer landscape, so do the many 
fears which ever hang like blossoms upon the tender 
spray of Love, tremble before every breath that blows, 
lest it should sweep off some cherished bloom. And 
ever upon the ear falls the melancholy truth of “all 
that’s fair must fadethat Love is ever driven back 
to its infancy, for long ere it is permitted to attain per¬ 
fection, it droops and dies ; like roses, which no sooner 
burst out into full bloom, than they wither ; that there 
is no beyond, no choice but to die, or look back and 
sigh to “ become a bird again,” and live over the same 
brief life : and such is the doom of all earthly love. 
It was a clear, bright morning in spring, one of 
those mornings in which Summer seems to have 
stepped forth from her golden chamber before her time, 
as if to look upon her great garden the earth, to see 
how her buds and blossoms are progressing. High in 
the centre of the open village-green, towering above 
the aged elm, whose weather-beaten stem was sur¬ 
rounded by rustic seats, rose the tall Maypole, hung 
with gaudy garlands, in which fluttered ribands of as 
