t

was a young maiden went forth to ride,
And there was a wooer to pace by her side;
His horse was so little, and hers so high,
He thought his angel was up in the sky.

His love was great, though his wit was small;
He bade her ride easy-and that was all.
The very horses began to neigh,-

Because their betters had nought to say.

They rode by elm, and they rode by oak,

They rode by a churchyard, and then he spoke :

"My pretty maiden, if you'll agree,

You shall always amble through life with me."

The damsel answered him never a word,

But kicked the grey mare, and away she spurred.

The wooer still followed behind the jade,

And enjoyed

like a wooer-the dust she made.

They rode thro' moss, and they rode thro' moor,—

The gallant behind and the lass before :

At last they came to a miry place,

And there the sad wooer gave up the chase.

Quoth he, "If my nag was better to ride,

I'd follow her over the world so wide.

Oh, it is not my love that begins to fail,

But I've lost the last glimpse of the grey mare's tail!"

A PATHETIC BALLAD

I.

For Nature when his head was made,

Forgot to dot his eyes.

II.

So, like a Christmas pedagogue,

Poor Tim was forced to do

Look out for pupils; for he had

A vacancy for two.

III.

There's some have specs to help their sight

Of objects dim and small;

But Tim had specks within his eyes, And could not see at all.

Now Tim he wooed a servant maid,

And took her to his arms;

For he, like Pyramus, had cast

A wall-eye on her charms.