His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, THE THE BUGLE SONG. splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old and hoary; And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes flying: Oh, hark! oh, hear! how thin and clear, Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. Oh, love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, T THE INQUIRY. ELL me, ye winged winds, that round my pathway roar, Do ye not know some spot where mortals weep no more? Some lone and pleasant dell, some valley in the west, Where, free from toil and pain, the weary soul may rest? The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low, And sighed for pity as it answered - "No." Tell me, thou mighty deep, whose billows round me play, The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, Stopped for a while, and sighed to answer-"No." And thou, serenest moon, that, with such lovely face, Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe, And a voice, sweet, but sad, responded - "No." Tell me, my secret soul—oh! tell me, Hope and Faith, Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given, HEAVEN." X MILTON ON HIS LOSS OF SIGHT. I AM old and blind! Men point at me as smitten by God's frown; Afflicted and deserted of my kind, Yet I am not cast down. I am weak, yet strong; I murmur not that I no longer see; O merciful One! + When men are farthest, then Thou art most near; When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun, Thy chariot I hear. Thy glorious face Is leaning toward me, and its holy light On my bended knee, I recognize Thy purpose, clearly shown; I have nought to fear; This darkness is the shadow of Thy wing; Can come no evil thing. Oh! I seem to stand Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been, Wrapped in the radiance from Thy sinless land, Which eye hath never seen. Visions come and go, Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng; It is nothing now, When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes— When airs from Paradise refresh my brow That earth in darkness lies. In a purer clime, My being fills with rapture waves of thought Give me now my lyre! I feel the stirrings of a gift divine; Traveller, in the stranger's land, Warrior, that, from battle won, Breathest now at set of sun; Weeping on his burial plain; Ye that triumph, ye that sigh, O' LD Tubal Cain was a man of might In the days when the earth was young; By the fierce red light of his furnace bright The strokes of his hammer rung; And he lifted high his brawny hand Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, And he sang, "Hurrah for my handiwork! Hurrah for the spear and sword! Hurrah for the hand that wields them well, To Tubal Cain came many a one, As he wrought by his roaring fire; And each one prayed for a strong steel blade, As the crown of his heart's desire. And he made them weapons sharp and strong, Till they shouted loud for glee, And gave him gifts of pearl and gold, And spoils of the forest-tree; And they sang, "Hurrah for Tubal Cain, Who has given us strength anew! Hurrah for the smith, and hurrah for the fire, And hurrah for the metal true!" But a sudden change came o'er his heart Ere the setting of the sun; And Tubal Cain was filled with pain For the evil he had done. He saw that men, with rage and hate, |