"O mother, mother, mother!" she said, "So strange it seems to me.

"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
Leaped up from where she lay,

Dropped her head in the maiden's hand,
And followed her all the way.

Down stepped Lord Ronald from his tower: "O Lady Clare, you shame your worth! Why come you dressed like a village maid, That are the flower of the earth?"

"If I come dressed 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 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; "If you are not the heiress born,

And I," said he, "the next in blood

Words: trow-believe; betrothed-engaged; cleave-cling, hold to; russet-brown homespun; dale-valley; down-hill.

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE

(The event which gave birth to this martial poem happened during the Crimean War between Russia and Turkey, in which England assisted Turkey. The gallant charge of six hundred English troopers against an army division will stand for all time as an example of reckless daring in the face of almost certain death. Whatever we may think of the officer who blundered, our admiration will go out to the unflinching courage of the men.)

"Forward the Light Brigade!"

Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldiers knew
Some one had blundered:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volleyed and thundered;

Stormed at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell,

Rode the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabers bare,
Flashed as they turned in air,
Sab'ring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while

All the world wondered.

Plunged in the battery-smoke, Right through the line they broke:

Cossack and Russian

Reeled from the saber-stroke,

Shattered and sundered.

Then they rode back, but not,

Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,