HA WTHORN. 
7i 
About the high and gay pole; 
When flower bedight, ’mid leaves and light, 
Shouts echoed—as it reared upright— 
Of “ Hurrah for merry England, and the raising of 
the Maypole!” 
When the good old times had carol rhymes, 
With morris games and village chimes; 
When clown and priest shared cup and feast, 
And the greatest jostled with the least, 
At the “ raising of the Maypole!” 
My brave land ! my brave land ! oh ! mayest thou be my 
grave-land ; 
For firm and fond will be the bond that ties my heart 
to thee. 
When Summer’s beams are glowing, when Autumn’s gusts 
are blowing, _ 
When Winter’s clouds are snowing, thou art still right 
dear to me. 
But yet, methinks, I love thee best 
When bees are nurst on whitethorn breast, 
When Spring-tide pours in, sweet and blest, 
And joy and hope come dancing ! 
When music from the feathered throng 
Breaks forth in merry marriage song, 
And mountain streamlets dash along, 
Like molten diamonds glancing ! 
Oh ! pleasant ’tis to scan the page, 
Rich with the theme of bygone age, 
When motley fool and learned sage, 
Brought garlands for the gay pole ; 
When laugh and shout came ringing out 
From courtly knight and peasant lout, 
