speak lightly of you over their nuts and raisins, mimicking your accent, and retailing dull, insipid boy-pleasantries. Enlightened by the experience of fatherhood, they will see with a clear remembrance your firmness in dealing with their moral faults, your patience in dealing with their intellectual weakness. And, calling to mind the old school-room, they will think: "Ah! it was good for us to be there. For, unknown to us, were made therein three tabernacles, one for us, and one for our schoolmaster, and one for Him that is the Friend of all children, and the Master of all schoolmasters.” Ah! believe me, brother mine, where two or three children are met together, unless He, who is the Spirit of gentleness, be in the midst of them, then our Latin is but sounding brass, and our Greek but a tinkling cymbal. Thompson. 200.-SONGS FROM TENNYSON. LATE, LATE, SO LATE! Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill! Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. No light had we: for that we do repent; Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet? No, no, too late! ye cannot enter now. SONG OF THE MAIDEN. Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; Dear as remembered kisses after death, SONG OF THE MOTHER. Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea! Come from the dying moon, and blow, While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. ENID'S SONG. Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud; Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown; Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd; SONG OF ELAINE. Sweet is true love, tho' given in vain, in vain; Love, art thou sweet? then bitter death must be: Sweet Love, that seems not made to fade away, I fain would follow love, if that could be: SONG OF VIVIEN. In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, It is the little rift within the lute, That by and by will make the music mute, 'BREAK, BREAK, BREAK!" Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead THE BUGLE SONG. The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear; how thin and clear, O sweet and far, from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland fail.tly blowing! O love, they die in yon rich sky, Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, SONG OF THE BROOK. I come from haunts of coot and hern, And sparkle out among the fern, By thirty hills I hurry down, For men may come and men may go, I chatter over stony ways, With many a curve my banks I fret And many a fairy foreland set I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, I wind about, and in and out, And here and there a foamy flake With many a silvery waterbreak And draw them all along, and flow For men may come and men may go, I steal by lawns and grassy plots I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, I murmur under moon and stars And out again I curve and flow For men may come and men may go, "I LIVE FOR THEE." Home they brought her warrior dead: "She must weep, or she will die." Then they praised him soft and low, Yet she neither spoke nor moved. Rose a nurse of ninety years, Set his child upon her knee Like summer tempest came her tears"Sweet my child, I live for thee." TRISTAM'S SONG. Ay, ay, O ay—the winds that bend the brier! A star in heaven, a star within the mere! Ay, ay, O ay—a star was my desire, And one was far apart, and one was near: Ay, ay, O ay-the winds that bow the grass! Ay, ay, O ay-the winds that move the mere. |