A Society all of Love and of Brotherhood! Beautiful dream! But alas for this Promise of May! Do not Labour's Floralia seem As flower-feasts fair to her followers? Look on the wreaths at her feet, Flung by enthusiast hands from the mine, and the mill, and the street, Piled flower-offerings, thine, Proletariat Queen of the May! And what means the new Bona Dea? and what would her suppliants say? Organised strength, solidarity, power to band and to strike, Hope that is native to Spring,--and Hate, in all seasons alike; Mutual trust of the many--and menace malign for the few. Citizen, capitalist,--ah! the hours of _your_ empire seem few, An empire ill-gendered, unjust, blindly selfish, and heartlessly strong For the crushing of famishing weakness, the rearing of wealth-founded wrong. Few, if these throngs have their will, for the fierce proletariat throbs For revenge on the full-fed _Bourgeoisie_ which ruthlessly harries and robs. 'Tis fired with alarms, and it arms with hot haste for the imminent fray, For it quakes at the tramp of King Mob, and the thought of this Queen of the May. The bandit of Capital falls, and shall perish in shame and in filth! The harvest of Labour's at hand!--The harvest; but red is the And the reapers are wrathful and rash, and the swift-wielded sickle that strives For the sheaves, not the gleaners' scant ears, seems agog for the reaping of--lives! Assassins of Capital? Aye! And their weakening force will ye mee With assassins of Labour? Shall Brotherhood redden the field and the street? Beware of the bad black old lesson! Behold, and look close, and beware! There are flowers at your newly-built shrine, is the evil old serpent not there? [Illustration: THE NEW "QUEEN OF THE MAY."] The sword-edge and snake-bite, though hidden in blossoms, are hatred's old arms. And what is your May Queen at heart, oh, true hearts, that succumb to her charms? Dropped and deep in the blossoms, with eyes that flicker like fir The asp of Murder lies hid, which with poison shall feed your desire. More than these things will she give, who looks fairer than all these things? Not while her sceptre's a snake, and her orb the red horror that rings Devilish, foul, round the world; while the hiss and the roar are the voice Of this monstrous new Queen of the May, in whose rule you would bid us rejoice. * * * * * MR. PUNCH'S UP-TO-DATE POETRY FOR CHILDREN. NO. II.--"LITTLE JACK HORNER." [Illustration] LITTLE JACK HORNER, He sat in the corner, And cried for his "Mummy!" and "Nuss!" For, while eating his cake, He had got by mistake In a horrid piratical 'bus.