SELECT POETRY.

New Zealander, Volume 9, Issue 798, 7 December 1853, Page 4

SELECT POETRY.

THE ARRAYING OF MAY. I. The blue eyed maidens of the sea With trembling haste appro.- ch the leo; So small and smooth, they seem to be Not waves, but children of 'he waves; And fl each linked circle laves The crescent marge of creek end bay. Their mingled voices all repeat— O lovely May! O long'd-for May! We come to bathe thy snow-white feet. it. We bring thee treasures rich and rave, White pearls to deck thy golden hair. And coral-beads, so smoothly fair And free from every flaw or speck, That they may lie upon thy neck, This sweetest day—this brightest day That ever on the green world shone— O lovely May I O iong'd-for May! As if thy neck and they were one. m. We bring the from our distant home, Robes of the pure white-woven foam, And many a smooth, transparent comb, Fonn'd of the shell the tortoise plaits. By Babelmandel's coral straits; And amber vases, with inlay Of roseate pearl time never dims— O lovely May I O long'd-for May ! Wherein to lave thine ivory limbs. IV. We bring, .is sandals for thy ieet, Beam-broider'd waves, like those that greet With green and golden chrysolite, The setting sun's departing beams, When all the western water seems Like emeralds melted by his ray, So softly bright, so gently warm— O lovely May 1 O long/d-for May ! That thou canst trust that tender form. v. And lo! the ladies of the hill. The rippling stream, the sparkling rill, With rival speed, and like good-will, Come, bearing down the mountain's side The liquid crystals of the tide, In vitreous vessels, clear as they, And cry, from each worn, winding path— O lovely May ! O long'd-for May ! We cowe to lead thee to the bath. VI. And we have fashioned, for thy sake. Mirrors more bright than art could make— The silvery-sheeted mountain lake Hangs in its carved frame of rocks Wherein to dress thy dripping locks, Or bind the dewy curls that stray Thy trembling brca.-.t meandering down— O lovely May! O long'd-for May! Within their own self-woven crown. VII. Arise, O May! arhe and see Thine emerald robes are held for thee By many a hundred-handed tree Who lift from all the fields around The verdurous velvet from the ground, And then the spotless vestments lay, Smooth-folded o'er their outstretched arms: O lovely May ! O long'd-for May ! Wherein to fold thy virgin charms. I VII I. Thy robes are stiff with golden bees. Dotted with gems more bright than these, And scented by each perfumed breere That, blown from Heaven's re-open'd bowers, Become the souls of new-born flowers, Who thus their sacred birth betray : Heavenly thou art, nor less should be, O lovely May I O long'd-for May ! The favour'd forms that wait on thee. XI. The moss to guard thy feet is spread, The wreaths are woven for thy head, The rosy curtains of thy bed Become transparent in the blaze Of the strong sun's resistless gaze; Then, lady, make no moic delay, The world still lives, though Spring be dead: O lovely May I O long'd-for May I And thou must rule and reign instead. x. The lady from her bed arose, Her bed the leaves the moss-bud blows, Herself a lily in that rose ; The maidens of the streams and sands Bathe some her feet and some her hands; And some the emerald robes display; Her dewy locks were then upcurled, And lovely May—the long'd-for May Was crowned the queen of all the world ! — Dublin University Magazine.