“Votaries of the Maypole，” cried the flower-deckedpriest， “merrily all day long have the woods echoed to yourmirth. But be this your merriest hour， my hearts！ Lo！ herestand the Lord and Lady of the May， whom I， a clerk ofOxford and high priest of Merry Mount， am presently tojoin in holy matrimony. Up with your nimble spirits， yemorrice-dancers， green men and glee-maidens， bears andwolves and horned gentlemen！ Come！ a chorus now richwith the old mirth of Merry England and the wilder gleeof this fresh forest， and then a dance， to show the youthfulpair what life is made of and how airily they should gothrough it！ All ye that love the Maypole， lend your voicesto the nuptial song of the Lord and Lady of the May！”
This wedlock was more serious than most affairs ofMerry Mount， where jest and delusion， trick and fantasy，kept up a continual carnival. The Lord and Lady of theMay， though their titles must be laid down at sunset，were really and truly to be partners for the dance of life，beginning the measure that same bright eve. The wreathof roses that hung from the lowest green bough of theMaypole had been twined for them， and would be thrownover both their heads in symbol of their flowery union.
When the priest had spoken， therefore， a riotous uproarburst from the rout of monstrous figures.
“Begin you the stave， reverend sir，” cried they all， “andnever did the woods ring to such a merry peal as we of theMaypole shall send up.”
Immediately a prelude of pipe， cittern and viol， touchedwith practised minstrelsy， began to play from a neighboringthicket in such a mirthful cadence that the boughs of theMaypole quivered to the sound. But the May-lord—he ofthe gilded staff—chancing to look into his lady’s eyes， waswonder-struck at the almost pensive glance that met hisown.
“Edith， sweet Lady of the May，” whispered he，reproachfully， “is yon wreath of roses a garland to hangabove our graves that you look so sad？ Oh， Edith， this isour golden time. Tarnish it not by any pensive shadowof the mind， for it may be that nothing of futurity willbe brighter than the mere remembrance of what is nowpassing.”
“That was the very thought that saddened me. Howcame it in your mind too？” said Edith， in a still lower tonethan he； for it was high treason to be sad at Merry Mount.
“Therefore do I sigh amid this festive music. And besides，dear Edgar， I struggle as with a dream， and fancy thatthese shapes of our jovial friends are visionary and theirmirth unreal， and that we are no true lord and lady of theMay. What is the mystery in my heart？”
Just then， as if a spell had loosened them， down came alittle shower of withering rose-leaves from the Maypole.
Alas for the young lovers！ No sooner had their heartsglowed with real passion than they were sensible ofsomething vague and unsubstantial in their formerpleasures， and felt a dreary presentiment of inevitablechange. From the moment that they truly loved they hadsubjected themselves to earth’s doom of care and sorrowand troubled joy， and had no more a home at Merry Mount.
That was Edith’s mystery. Now leave we the priest tomarry them， and the masquers to sport round the Maypoletill the last sunbeam be withdrawn from its summit andthe shadows of the forest mingle gloomily in the dance.
Meanwhile， we may discover who these gay people were.
Two hundred years ago， and more， the Old World andits inhabitants became mutually weary of each other. Menvoyaged by thousands to the West—some to barter glassand such like jewels for the furs of the Indian hunter， someto conquer virgin empires， and one stern band to pray. Butnone of these motives had much weight with the strivingto communicate their mirth to the grave Indian， ormasquerading in the skins of deer and wolves which theyhad hunted for that especial purpose. Often the wholecolony were playing at Blindman’s Buff， magistrates and allwith their eyes bandaged， except a single scapegoat， whomthe blinded sinners pursued by the tinkling of the bells athis garments. Once， it is said， they were seen following aflower-decked corpse with merriment and festive musicto his grave. But did the dead man laugh？ In their quietesttimes they sang ballads and told tales for the edificationof their pious visitors， or perplexed them with jugglingtricks， or grinned at them through horse-collars； and whensport itself grew wearisome， they made game of their ownstupidity and began a yawning-match. At the very least ofthese enormities the men of iron shook their heads andfrowned so darkly that the revellers looked up， imaginingthat a momentary cloud had overcast the sunshine whichwas to be perpetual there. On the other hand， the Puritansaffirmed that when a psalm was pealing from their placeof worship the echo which the forest sent them backseemed often like the chorus of a jolly catch， closing witha roar of laughter. Who but the fiend and his bond-slavesthe crew of Merry Mount had thus disturbed them？ Indue time a feud arose， stern and bitter on one side， andas serious on the other as anything could be among suchlight spirits as had sworn allegiance to the Maypole. Thefuture complexion of New England was involved in thisimportant quarrel. Should the grisly saints establish theirjurisdiction over the gay sinners， then would their spiritsdarken all the clime and make it a land of clouded visages，of hard toil， of sermon and psalm for ever； but should thebanner-staff of Merry Mount be fortunate， sunshine wouldbreak upon the hills， and flowers would beautify the forestand late posterity do homage to the Maypole.
After these authentic passages from history we returnto the nuptials of the Lord and Lady of the May. Alas！
we have delayed too long， and must darken our tale toosuddenly. As we glance again at the Maypole a solitarysunbeam is fading from the summit， and leaves only a faintgolden tinge blended with the hues of the rainbow banner.