Let us seek her in the ray—­
    Let us track her by the rill—­
      Wending ascending
    The slopings of the hill. 
  Where the robin from the copses
  Breathes a love-note, and then drops his
      Trilling, till, willing,
    His mate responds his lay—­
We shall find the listening maiden there to-day.

But why seek her far away? 
    Like a young bird in its nest,
      She is warming and forming
    Her dwelling in her breast. 
  While the heart she doth repose on,
  Like the down the sunwind blows on,
      Gloweth, yet showeth
    The trembling of the ray—­
We shall find the happy maiden there to-day.

THE TIDINGS.

A bright beam came to my window frame,
  This sweet May morn,
And it said to the cold, hard glass: 
  Oh! let me pass,
For I have good news to tell,
The queen of the dewy dell,
  The beautiful May is born!

Warm with the race, through the open space,
  This sweet May morn,
Came a soft wind out of the skies: 
  And it said to my heart—­Arise! 
Go forth from the winter’s fire,
For the child of thy long desire,
  The beautiful May is born!

The bright beam glanced and the soft wind danced,
  This sweet May morn,
Over my cheek and over my eyes;
  And I said with a glad surprise: 
Oh! lead me forth, ye blessed twain,
Over the hill and over the plain,
  Where the beautiful May is born.

Through the open door leaped the beam before
  This sweet May morn,
And the soft wind floated along,
  Like a poet’s song,
Warm from his heart and fresh from his brain;
And they led me over the mount and plain,
  To the beautiful May new-born.

My guide so bright and my guide so light,
  This sweet May morn,
Led me along o’er the grassy ground,
  And I knew by each joyous sight and sound,
The fields so green and the skies so gay,
That heaven and earth kept holiday,
  That the beautiful May was born.

Out of the sea with their eyes of glee,
  This sweet May morn,
Came the blue waves hastily on;
  And they murmuring cried—­Thou happy one! 
Show us, O Earth! thy darling child,
For we heard far out on the ocean wild,
  That the beautiful May was born.

The wing`ed flame to the rosebud came,
  This sweet May morn,
And it said to the flower—­Prepare! 
  Lay thy nectarine bosom bare;
Full soon, full soon, thou must rock to rest,
And nurse and feed on thy glowing breast,
  The beautiful May now born.

The gladsome breeze through the trembling trees,
  This sweet May morn,
Went joyously on from bough to bough;
  And it said to the red-branched plum—­O thou,
Cover with mimic pearls and gems,
And with silver bells, thy coral stems,
  For the beautiful May now born.