George Darley

1795-1846.

MAY DAY. From “Sylvia”: Act III. Scene ii.

O

may, thou art a merry time,

Sing hi! the hawthorn pink and pale!

When hedge-pipes they begin to chime,

And summer-flowers to sow the dale.

When lasses and their lovers meet

Beneath the early village-thorn,

And to the sound of tabor sweet

Bid welcome to the Maying-morn!

O May, thou art a merry time,

Sing hi! the hawthorn pink and pale!

When hedge-pipes they begin to chime,

And summer-flowers to sow the dale.

When grey-beards and their gossips come

With crutch in hand our sports to see,

And both go tottering, tattling home,

Topful of wine as well as glee!

O May, thou art a merry time,

Sing hi! the hawthorn pink and pale!

When hedge-pipes they begin to chime,

And summer-flowers to sow the dale.

But Youth was aye the time for bliss,

So taste it, Shepherds! while ye may:

For who can tell that joy like this

Will come another holiday?

O May, thou art a merry time,

Sing hi! the hawthorn pink and pale!

When hedge-pipes they begin to chime,

And summer-flowers to sow the dale.

I’ve Been Roaming. From “Lilian of the Vale.”

I

’ve been roaming! I ’ve been roaming!

Where the meadow dew is sweet,

And like a queen I ’m coming

With its pearls upon my feet.

I ’ve been roaming! I ’ve been roaming!

O’er red rose and lily fair,

And like a sylph I ’m coming

With their blossoms in my hair.

I ’ve been roaming! I ’ve been roaming!

Where the honeysuckle creeps,

And like a bee I ’m coming

With its kisses on my lips.

I ’ve been roaming! I ’ve been roaming!

Over hill and over plain,

And like a bird I ’m coming

To my bower back again!

Sylvia’s Song.

T

he streams that wind amid the hills

And lost in pleasure slowly roam,

While their deep joy the valley fills,—

Even these will leave their mountain home;

So may it, Love! with others be,

But I will never wend from thee.

The leaf forsakes the parent spray,

The blossom quits the stem as fast;

The rose-enamour’d bird will stray

And leave his eglantine at last:

So may it, Love! with others be,

But I will never wend from thee.

SERENADE. From “Sylvia”: Act IV. Scene I.

Romanzo sings:

A

wake thee, my Lady-love!

Wake thee, and rise!

The sun through the bower peeps

Into thine eyes!

Behold how the early lark

Springs from the corn!

Hark, hark how the flower-bird

Winds her wee horn!

The swallow’s glad shriek is heard

All through the air!

The stock-dove is murmuring

Loud as she dare!

Apollo’s winged bugleman

Cannot contain,

But peals his loud trumpet-call

Once and again!

Then wake thee, my Lady-love,

Bird of my bower!

The sweetest and sleepiest

Bird at this hour!