 | Poems |  |
151
THE PLAIN GOLD RING.
BALLAD.
He was a Chief of low degree!A Lady, high and fair, was she:
She dropp'd a Ring—he rais'd the gem,
'Twas rich as eastern diadem,—
“Nay as your mistress' trophy take
The toy, when next a lance you break.”
He to the Tourney rode away,
And bore off Glory's Wreath that day!
152
When, hastening to that Lady's feet,
The Ring and Wreath he proudly laid;
“Oh keep the gaud,” she softly said;—
“Nay, Ring so rich I may not wear,
How e'er return a gift so rare?”—,
“Dear youth, a Plain Gold Ring,” she sigh'd,
“From you, were worth the world beside!”
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