choral voices, singing some early Saxon stave, precursor of the later
song--

"We have brought the summer home."

Often in the good old days before the Monk-king reigned, kings and
ealdermen had thus gone forth a-maying; but these merriments,
savouring of heathenesse, that good prince misliked: nevertheless the
song was as blithe, and the boughs were as green, as if king and
ealderman had walked in the train.

On the great Kent road, the fairest meads for the cowslip, and the
greenest woods for the bough, surrounded a large building that once
had belonged to some voluptuous Roman, now all defaced and despoiled;
but the boys and the lasses shunned those demesnes; and even in their
mirth, as they passed homeward along the road, and saw near the ruined
walls, and timbered outbuildings, grey Druid stones (that spoke of an
age before either Saxon or Roman invader) gleaming through the dawn--
the song was hushed--the very youngest crossed themselves; and the
elder, in solemn whispers, suggested the precaution of changing the
song into a psalm. For in that old building dwelt Hilda, of famous
and dark repute; Hilda, who, despite all law and canon, was still
believed to practise the dismal arts of the Wicca and Morthwyrtha (the
witch and worshipper of the dead). But once out of sight of those
fearful precincts, the psalm was forgotten, and again broke, loud,
clear, and silvery, the joyous chorus.

So, entering London about sunrise, doors and windows were duly
wreathed with garlands; and every village in the suburbs had its May-
pole, which stood in its place all the year. On that happy day labour