A CURIOUS ceremony annually observed at Magdalen College is represented in our frontispiece. Every May-day morning, at five o'clock, a Latin Hymn to the Holy Trinity is sung on the summit of the Tower by the choir habited in their surplices. This custom is commonly said to have been substituted for a mass anciently performed for the soul of King Henry VII., but it is more probably, like other May-day usages, a relic of Pagan times. The Hymn now sung is taken from the College Grace, and is in no way connected with the annual commemoration of Henry VII. in the chapel on the same day."

The beautiful Poem by the late Dean BURGON, so admirably descriptive of the ceremony, is here reprinted by special permission of the Author, together with the Words and Music of the Latin hymn.

MAY MORNING ON MAGDALEN TOWER:
BY THE VERY REV. JOHN W. BURGON, B.D.,
LATE DEAN OF CHICHESTER,
Formerly Fellow of Oriel and Vicar of St. Mary-the-Virgin's.
________

WHAT do we up so early this May morn?
Hath Health the huntress from some neighbouring hill
Blown such a blast of her enchanted horn,
That Youth forgets his slumber? . . . Gathering still,
Quick eager forms the solemn pathway fill:
Pass Magdalen's portal, scale her endless stair,
Still spiring upward, like the lark, until
Bursts on the sense the fresh cool matin air,
And cheerful speech of friends already gathering there.

And O! the rapturous beauty of the scene!
Silent and calm as some far fabulous shore
Where never barque of mariner hath been!
Yet full of ancient life, and mapped all o'er
With holy memories of the days of yore.
Dear home of towers, and spires, and musical chimes,
And groves, and gardens!--lovely evermore,
Yet far, far lovelier than at other times,
When first the bright-eyed Sun his orient pathway climbs.

But turn!--while we are dreaming there hath grown
A crowd about us. Lo, a tuneful choir,
White-robed, bare-headed, all eyes one way thrown:
As erst men waited till the eastern fire
Kindled the tremulous chords of Memnon's lyre.
And hark! that well-known plaintive prelude o'er--
Five pulses of the clock!--which scarce expire
Ere soft as dew amid the silence soar
Seraphic sounds aloft, and this the strain they pour:--

O Thee, O GOD the FATHER--Thee,
All worship, praise, and glory be!
Thy hand bestows our daily bread,
And that wherewith our souls are fed.

To Thee, O JESU--Thee, the SON--
To Thee, alone-begotten One,
Who for our sakes didst not abhor
The Virgin's womb--our hearts we pour.

When Thou upon Thy Cross wast laid,
To GOD a willing offering made,
The hope of life first dawned below--
Our joy, our only Saviour, Thou!

To Thee, O HOLY GHOST--by whom
The Babe was born of Mary's womb,
Both GOD and Man--to Thee we raise
The hymn of everlasting praise.

O THREE IN ONE, Who didst devise
Such pathway back to Paradise;
This mystery of Love be sung
In every age by every tongue!

Ah, you should hear it chanted!--for the strain
Grows weak and powerless fettered down to song--
Like a swift eagle prisoned with a chain,
Which else had soared the rolling clouds among.
Trust me, once heard, 'twould haunt thy memory long,
That calm sweet strain! And oft, when sundered far,
Brought low by sorrow, or oppressed by wrong,
'Twould soothe thy spirit--like the evening-star--
Foretaste of what sweet things the songs of Angels are.

Now ring out all the bells a merry chime;
While the hoarse horn croaks forth, a league below,
The note which doubtless seems the true sublime
To urchins straining might and main to blow.
Ring out, glad bells! and let the sleepers know
That, while they slept, we watched the month of May
Twine the first garland for her virgin brow.
Then bid them rise, for 'tis the prime of day:
And lo, the young Month comes, all smiling, up this way!

[The Words are by Dr. THOMAS SMITH, Fellow of Magdalen. The Music was composed by BENJAMIN ROGERS, Mus. Doc., who was organist of the College, 1685. . . For translation, see DEAN BURGON'S Poem.]

TE DEUM PATREM colimus,
Te laudibus prosequimur,
Qui corpus cibo reficis,
Coelesti mentem gratia.

Te adoramus, O JESU!
Te, FILI Unigenite,
Te, Qui non dedignatus es
Subire claustra Virginis.

Actus in Crucem, factus es
Irato DEO Victima:
Per Te, Salvator unice,
Vitae spes nobis rediit.

Tibi, AEterne SPIRITUS,
Cujus afflatu peperit
Infantem DEUM Maria,
AEternum benedicimus.

TRIUNE DELIS, hominum.
Salutis Auctor optime:
Immensum hoc mysterium
Ovante lingua canimus.

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