JEAN INGELOW.

I sat and spun within the doore,
My thread brake off, I raised myne

eyes;

The level sun, like ruddy ore,

Lay sinking in the barren skies; And dark against day's golden death She moved where Lindis wandereth, My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth.

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling,
Ere the early dews were falling,
Farre away I heard her song.
"Cusha! Cusha!" all along;
Where the reedy Lindis floweth,
Floweth, floweth,

From the meads where melick groweth
Faintly came her milking song.

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, "For the dews will soon be falling; Leave your meadow grasses mellow, Mellow, mellow;

Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow;
Comme uppe Whitefoot, come uppe
Lightfoot,

Quit the stalks of parsley hollow,
Hollow, hollow;

Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow,
From the clovers lift your head;
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe
Lightfoot,

Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow.
Jetty, to the milking-shed."

LINCOLNSHIRE.

Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong; And all the aire it seemeth me Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), That ring the tune of Enderby.

Alle fresh the level pasture lay,

And not a shadowe mote be seene, Save where full fyve good miles away

The steeple towered from out the greene. And lo! the great bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side That Saturday at eventide.

The swannerds where their sedges are Moved on in sunset's golden breath, The shepherde lads I heard afarre,

And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth; Till floating o'er the grassy sea Came downe that kyndly message free, The "Brides of Mavis Enderby."