FINIS.

The white dove sat on the castle wall,

I bent my bow, and shoot her I shall,"—

(The fair bird, truth, and her meanings;)

"I put her in my glove, both feathers and

all;"

(The pretty plumes that her flight let fall;

For I bound in a book my gleanings:)

"I laid my bridle upon the shelf,—

If you want any more, you may sing it

yourself!"

(It's all in the wits and the weenings!)