Although for my relief thou wilt not come, Leave not the place where once thou loved'st to roam! Here thou mayst rove secure from meeting me; With a torn heart forever hence I flee. Come, if 'twere this alone thy footsteps stayed, Here the soft meadow, the delightful shade, The roses now in flower, the waters clear, Invite thee to the valley once so dear. Come, and bring with thee thy late-chosen love; Each object shall thy perfidy reprove; Since to another thou hast given thy heart, From this sweet scene forever I depart. And soon kind Death my sorrows shall remove, The bitter ending of my faithful love. SONG WRITTEN FOR A MAY DAY FESTIVAL. TO BE SUNG TO THE TUNE OF "THE BONNY BOAT." I. O, blessed be this sweet May day, The fairest of the year; The birds are heard from every spray, And the blue sky shines so clear! White blossoms deck the apple tree, Blue violets the plain; Their fragrance tells the wand'ring bee That Spring is come again. We'll cull the blossoms from the bough Where robins gayly sing, We'll wreathe them for our queen's pure brow, We'll wreathe them for our king. II. The winter wind is bleak and sad, And chill the winter rain; But these May gales blow warm and glad, And charm the heart from pain. The sick, the poor rejoice once more, Pale cheeks resume their glow, And those who thought their day was o'er New life to May suns owe. And we, in youth and health so gay, Sheltered by love and care, How should we joy in blooming May, And bless its balmy air! III. We are the children of the Spring; Our home is always green; Green be the garland of our king, The livery of our queen. The gardener's care the seed has strown, To deck our home with flowers; Our Father's love from high has shone, And sent the needed showers. Barren indeed the plants must be, If they should not disclose, Tended and cherished with such toil, The lily and the rose. IV. Meanwhile through the wild wood we'll rove, Where earliest flowerets grow, And greet each simple bud with love, Which tells us what to do-- That, though untended, we may bloom And smile on all around, And one day rise from earth's low tomb, To live where light is found. A modest violet be our queen, Still fragrant, though alone, Our king a laurel--evergreen-- To which no blight is known. V.