THE QUEEN'S RIDE.

The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me-

And the daisy's cheek is tipp'd with a blush,
She is of such low degree;

Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves,
And the broom's betroth'd to the bee;-
But I will plight with the dainty rose,
For fairest of all is she.

And as the Queen did ride,
Lady mine!

Sir Launcelot at her side

Laughed and chatted, bending over,
Half her friend and all her lover,-
Lady mine!

And as they rode along,
Lady mine!

The throstle gave them song,

And the buds peeped through the grass
To see youth and beauty pass,
Lady mine!

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THE QUEEN'S RIDE.

And on, through deathless time,
Lady mine!

These lovers in their prime,

(Two fairy ghosts together!)

Ride, with sea-green robe and feather,
Lady mine!

And so we two will ride,
Lady mine!

At your pleasure, side by side,
Laugh and chat,―I bending over,
Half your friend and all your lover,
Lady mine!

But if you like not this
Lady mine!

And take my love amiss,
Then I'll ride unto the end,

Half your lover, all your friend,—
Lady mine!

So come which way you will,
Lady mine!

Vale, upland, plain, and hill

Wait your coming. For one day
Loose the bridle, and away!

Lady mine!

Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

LETTICE WHITE.

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LETTICE WHITE.

My neighbour White-we met to-day-
He always had a cheerful way,

As if he breathed at ease;

My neighbour White lives down the glade,
And I live higher, in the shade

Of my old walnut trees.

So many lads and lasses small,

To feed them all, to clothe them all,

Must surely tax his wit;

I see his thatch when I look out,
His branching roses creep about,
And vines half smother it.

There white-haired urchins climb his eaves
And little watch-fires heap with leaves,
And milky filberts hoard;

And there his oldest daughter stands
With downcast eyes and skilful hands
Before her ironing-board.

She comforts all her mother's days,
And with her sweet obedient ways
She makes her labour light;
So sweet to hear, so fair to see!
O, she is much too good for me,
That lovely Lettice White!

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LETTICE WHITE.

'T is hard to feel oneself a fool!

With that same lass I went to school-
I then was great and wise;
She read upon an easier book,
And I-I never cared to look
Into her shy blue eyes.

And now I know they must be there,
Sweet eyes, behind those lashes fair
That will not raise their rim:
If maids be shy, he cures who can;
But if a man be shy—a man—
Why then the worse for him;

My mother cries, "For such a lad
A wife is easy to be had

And always to be found;

A finer scholar scarce can be,
And for a foot and leg," says she,
"He beats the country round!

"My handsome boy must stoop his head
To clear her door whom he would wed."
Weak praise, but fondly sung!

"O mother! scholars sometimes fail-
And what can foot and leg avail
To him that wants a tongue?”

When by her ironing-board I sit,
Her little sisters round me flit,

And bring me forth their store;
Dark cluster grapes of dusty blue,
And small sweet apples bright of hue
And crimson to the core.

LETTICE WHITE.

But she abideth silent, fair,

All shaded by her flaxen hair

The blushes come and go;

I look, and I no more can speak
Than the red sun that on her cheek
Smiles as he lieth low.

Sometimes the roses by the latch
Or scarlet vine-leaves from her thatch
Come sailing down like birds;

When from their drifts her board I clear,
She thanks me, but I scarce can hear
The shyly uttered words.

Oft have I wooed sweet Lettice White
By daylight and by candlelight
When we two were apart.
Some better day come on apace,
And let me tell her face to face,
"Maiden, thou hast my heart."

How gently rock yon poplars high
Against the reach of primrose sky
With heaven's pale candles stored!
She sees them all, sweet Lettice White;
I'll e'en go sit again to-night

Beside her ironing-board!

F. Ingelow.

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