A Song For May Morning.

Awake! awake! the dusky night         Is fading from the sky;     Awake! and with the early light         To pleasant fields we'll hie.     Come with me, and I will show     Where the fragrant wild-flowers grow;     We will weave a garland gay     For our smiling Queen of May.     The sun peeps up behind the hills,         And hark! the morning song     Of little birds the fresh air fills,         As now we skip along.     By the brook-side cold and wet,     Blooms the pale, white violet;     There's the purple blossom, too,     Nodding with its weight of dew.     The gentle wind just lifts the head         Of many a columbine;     And, taken from their rocky bed,         They in our wreaths shall twine.     Saxifrage, so small and sweet,     Grows in plenty at our feet;     From the grass we gather up,     Golden bright, the buttercup.     Now for the trailing evergreen,         That in the woodland springs,     And we will crown our May-day queen         With buds this fair month brings.     Merriest of all the year     Is the day we welcome here;     We will sing and dance away,     In our glee, this long May-day.