THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE

Word was brought to the Danish king,

(Hurry!)

That the love of his heart lay suffering,

And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; (Oh, ride as if you were flying!)

Better he loves each golden curl

On the brow of that Scandinavian girl
Than his rich crown-jewels of ruby and pearl;
And his Rose of the Isles is dying.

Thirty nobles saddled with speed;

(Hurry!)

Each one mounted a gallant steed

Which he kept for battle and days of need;

(Oh, ride as though you were flying!)
Spurs were stuck in the foaming flank,
Worn-out chargers staggered and sank;
Bridles were slackened and girths were burst;
But, ride as they would, the king rode first,
For his Rose of the Isles lay dying.

His nobles are beaten, one by one;

(Hurry!)

They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward

gone;

The little fair page now follows alone,

For strength and for courage trying.

The king looked back at that faithful child,
Wan was the face that answering smiled.

LADY CLARE

They passed the drawbridge with clattering din,
Then he dropped, and only the king rode in

Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying.

The king blew a blast on his bugle-horn,
(Silence!)

No answer came, but faint and forlorn
An echo returned on the cold gray morn,
Like the breath of a spirit sighing;
The castle portal stood grimly wide;
None welcomed the king from that weary
For, dead in the light of the dawning day,
The pale, sweet form of the welcomer lay,

ride!

Who had yearned for his voice while dying.

The panting steed with a drooping crest
Stood weary;

The king returned from the chamber of rest,
The thick sobs choking in his breast,

And that dumb companion eying,

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The tears gushed forth, which he strove to check;
He bowed his head on his charger's neck,
"O steed that every nerve didst strain,
Dear steed! our ride hath been in vain

To the halls where my love lay dying."

Caroline Elizabeth Norton.

LADY CLARE

It was the time when lilies blow,
And clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.

I trow they did not part in scorn;
Lovers long-betrothed were they,
They two will wed the morrow morn;
God's blessing on the day!

"He does not love me for my birth,
Nor for my lands so broad and fair;
He loves me for my own true worth,
And that is well," said Lady Clare.

In there came old Alice the nurse,

Said, "Who was this that went from thee? "It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, "To-morrow he weds with me."

"O God be thanked!" said Alice the nurse,
"That all comes round so just and fair;
Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,
And you are not the Lady Clare."

"Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse," Said Lady Clare, "that ye speak so wild?" "As God's above," said Alice the nurse, "I speak the truth: you are my child.

"The old Earl's daughter died at my breast;
I speak the truth, as I live by bread!
I buried her like my own sweet child,
And put my child in her stead."

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Falsely, falsely have ye done,

O mother," she said, "if this be true,

LADY CLARE

To keep the best man under the sun
So many years from his due.”

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, "But keep the secret for your life,

And all

you have will be Lord Ronald's

When you are man and wife."

"If I'm a beggar born," she said,

"I will speak out, for I dare not lie. Pull off, pull off, the broach of gold, And fling the diamond necklace by!"

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, "But keep the secret all ye can."

She said, "Not so: but I will know

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"Nay now, what faith?" said Alice the nurse, "The man will cleave unto his right." "And he shall have it," the lady replied, "Though I should die to-night."

"Yet give one kiss to your mother dear!
Alas, my child, I sinned for thee."
"O mother, mother, mother," she said,
So strange it seems to me!

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"Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear,
My mother dear, if this be so,
And lay your hand upon my head,

And bless me, mother, ere I go."

She clad herself in a russet gown,

She was no longer Lady Clare ;
She went by dale, and she went by down,
With a single rose in her hair.

The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought
Leapt up from where she lay,
Dropt her head in the maiden's hand,
And followed her all the way.

Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower;

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"O Lady Clare, you shame your worth! Why come you drest like a village maid, That are the flower of the earth?"

"If I come drest like a village maid,
I am but as my fortunes are:
I am a beggar born," she said,
"And not the Lady Clare."

"Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald,
"For I am yours in word and in deed;
"Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald,
"Your riddle is hard to read."

Oh, and proudly stood she up!

Her heart within her did not fail: She looked into Lord Ronald's eyes, And told him all her nurse's tale.

He laughed a laugh of merry scorn;

He turned, and kissed her where she stood;