Text: Elizabeth S. Swift, “First of May”, Atlantic Souvenir for 1830, 1829, pp. 324-325

THERE is music on the breeze,

From a thousand tiny throats;

And amid the blossom’d trees,

The wild birds pour their notes;

The rivers flow along,

With a murmur like a song;

But alas! I am sad, I am sad.

 

There's perfume on the air,

From the early budding flowers;

Bright, beautiful, and fair,

They gem the woodland bowers,

Of every hue and dye,

To tempt the vagrant eye;

But alas! I am sad, I am sad.

 

’Tis the sunny first of May,

She is tripping on the earth,

To the wild bird's joyous lay;

Fresh flowerets hail her birth, [page 325:]

And with fragrant kisses greet

The coming of her feet;

But alas! I am sad, I am sad.

 

For the birds and perfumed flowers,

And the waters glancing bright,

But remind me of those hours

Of exquisite delight —

That lang syne first of May

With its glorious array,

When ah! I was glad, I was glad.

 

The friends my spirit loved,

Were wandering by my side;

Whilst through the woods we roved,

Or watch’d the waters glide

In white and glittering foam,

To their far off ocean home;

And ah! I was glad, I was glad.

 

But time hath all things changed,

Those blessings all have flown;

The absent and estranged

Have left my heart alone;

Then how can I be gay

On this merry first of May?

Ah no! I am sad, I am sad.