The Queen of the May

'Twas the morning of May, and the yellow hair'd god Just peep'd through the gates of the East, When Corydon left his own rural abode, And flew to his Delia in haste: Awake, love, he cry'd, my dear charmer, arise, And join the gay throng on the geeen; For the swains have agreed on this morn to surprise My Delia, by chusing her Queen.

She, smiling, came forth, pleasure danc'd in her eyes, While modesty crimson'd her cheek; He ravish'd a kiss, ah! how happy, he cries, Wou'd my Delia permit me to speak. Or wou'd she consent to repair to the brow, Where yon' village steeple is seen, To be constant and faithful, I'd cheerfully vow, And make her my heart's chosen Queen.

She cou'd not refuse; yet, asham'd to comply, Her eyes with soft tenderness shone; Young Corydon seiz'd the soft moment with joy, And Hymen soon render'd them one. Then with hearts light as air, and as innocence gay, They join'd the gay throng on the green; And Corydon blesses the morning of May, When the shepherds chose Delia their Queen.