The pea is but a wanton witch,
In too much haste to wed,
And clasps her rings on every hand;
The wolfsbane I should dread;
Nor will I dreary rosemarye,
That always mourns the dead;—­
But I will woo the dainty rose,
With her cheeks of tender red.

The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me—­
And the daisy’s cheek is tipped 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.

BALLAD.

She’s up and gone, the graceless girl,
  And robb’d my failing years! 
My blood before was thin and cold
  But now ’tis turn’d to tears;—­
My shadow falls upon my grave,
  So near the brink I stand,
She might have stay’d a little yet,
  And led me by the hand!

Aye, call her on the barren moor,
  And call her on the hill: 
’Tis nothing but the heron’s cry,
  And plover’s answer shrill;
My child is flown on wilder wings
  Than they have ever spread,
And I may even walk a waste
  That widen’d when she fled.

Full many a thankless child has been,
  But never one like mine;
Her meat was served on plates of gold,
  Her drink was rosy wine;
But now she’ll share the robin’s food,
  And sup the common rill,
Before her feet will turn again
  To meet her father’s will!

RUTH.

She stood breast high amid the corn
Clasp’d by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.

On her cheek an autumn flush,
Deeply ripen’d;—­such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

Round her eyes her tresses fell,
Which were blackest none could tell,
But long lashes veil’d a light,
That had else been all too bright.

And her hat, with shady brim,
Made her tressy forehead dim;—­
Thus she stood amid the stooks,
Praising God with sweetest looks:—­

Sure, I said, Heav’n did not mean,
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean,
Lay thy sheaf adown and come,
Share my harvest and my home.

THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES.[8]

[Footnote 8:  The opening Poem in the volume published by Hood in 1827, under the same title.  The Poem was prefaced by the following letter to Charles Lamb:—­