LETTICE WHITE. 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, 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. 175 176 LETTICE WHITE. 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 With heaven's pale candles stored! She sees them all, sweet Lettice White; 'll e'en go sit again to-night Beside her ironing-board. THE POPLAR. THOMAS INGOLDSBY. X here stands the Poplar, so tall and so stately, On whose tender rind-'twas a little one then We carved her initials; though not very lately— Yes, here is the G which proclaimed Georgiana, askew ; And it's not without grief we perforce entertain a Conviction, it now looks much more like a Q. M 178 THE POPLAR. This should be the great D, too, that once stood for Dobbin, Her loved patronymic-ah! can it be so? Its once fair proportions, time, too, has been robbing AD?-we'll be Deed if it isn't an O! Alas! how the soul sentimental it vexes, That thus on our labours stern Chronos should frown, Should change our soft liquids to izzards and X'es, And turn true-love's alphabet all upside down!* *Reprinted from " Ingoldsby Legends," by permission of Messrs Richard Bentley & Son. SING HEIGH-HO! REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY. HERE sits a bird on every tree, Sing heigh-ho! There sits a bird on every tree, And courts his love, as I do thee; Sing heigh-ho, and heigh-ho! Young maids must marry.— There grows a flower on every bough, Sing heigh-ho! There grows a flower on every bough, Its petals kiss-I'll show you how: Sing heigh-ho, and heigh-ho! Young maids must marry. |