A LOVE-LESSON.

LEIGH HUNT.

SWEET "No, no,"-with a sweet smile beneath,

Becomes an honest girl; I'd have you learn

it :

As for plain "Yes," it may be said i' faith,

Too plainly and too oft :-pray, well discern it—

Not that I'd have my pleasure incomplete,

Or lose the kiss for which my lips beset you ; But that in suffering me to take it, Sweet,

I'd have you say, "No, no, I will not let you."

LOVE AND AGE.

LEIGH HUNT.

HEN young, I loved. At that enchanting

age,

So sweet, so short, love was my sole delight; And when I reached the time for being sage, Still I loved on, for reason gave me right.

Snows come at length, and livelier joys depart,
Yet gentle ones still kiss these eyelids dim;
For still I love, and love consoles my heart;

What could console me for the loss of Him?

LETTICE WHITE.

JEAN INGELOW.

Y 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.

LETTICE WHITE.

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 labours light;

So sweet to hear, so fair to see!
Oh, she is much too good for me,
That lovely Lettice White!

'Tis hard to feel one's self 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.

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174

LETTICE WHITE.

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 !