The great describer of our Lost Paradise did not disdain to sing a
Now the bright Morning star, Day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose Hail bounteous-May, that dost inspire Mirth and youth and warm desire; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale do boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee and wish thee long.
Nor did the Poet of the World, William Shakespeare, hesitate to
He makes one of his characters (in _King Henry VIII_.) complain that it is as impossible to keep certain persons quiet on an ordinary day, as it is to make them sleep on May-day--once the time of universal merriment-- when every one was wont "_to put himself into triumph_."
'Tis as much impossible, Unless we sweep 'em from the doors with cannons To scatter 'em, _as 'tis to make 'em sleep On May-day Morning_.
Spenser duly celebrates, in his "Shepheard's Calender,"
Thilke mery moneth of May When love-lads masken in fresh aray,
when "all is yclad with pleasaunce, the ground with grasse, the woods with greene leaves, and the bushes with bloosming buds."
Sicker[043] this morowe, no longer agoe, I saw a shole of shepeardes outgoe With singing and shouting and iolly chere: Before them yode[044] a lustre tabrere,[045] That to the many a hornepype playd Whereto they dauncen eche one with his mayd. To see those folks make such iovysaunce, Made my heart after the pype to daunce. Tho[046] to the greene wood they speeden hem all To fetchen home May with their musicall; And home they bringen in a royall throne Crowned as king; and his queene attone[047] Was LADY FLORA.
This is the season when the birds seem almost intoxicated with delight at the departure of the dismal and cold and cloudy days of winter and the return of the warm sun. The music of these little May musicians seems as fresh as the fragrance of the flowers. The Skylark is the prince of British Singing-birds--the leader of their cheerful band.
Wanderer through the wilds of air! Freely as an angel fair Thou dost leave the solid earth, Man is bound to from his birth Scarce a cubit from the grass Springs the foot of lightest lass-- _Thou_ upon a cloud can'st leap, And o'er broadest rivers sweep, Climb up heaven's steepest height, Fluttering, twinkling, in the light, Soaring, singing, till, sweet bird, Thou art neither seen nor heard, Lost in azure fields afar Like a distance hidden star, That alone for angels bright Breathes its music, sheds its light