And oft they thought him sinking,

But still again he rose.

Never, I ween, did swimmer,

In such an evil case,
Struggle through such a raging flood

Safe to the landing-place:
But his limbs were borne up bravely

By the brave heart within,
And our good father Tiber

Bare bravely up his chin.

“Curse on him !" quoth false Sextus,

“ Will not the villain drown? But for this stay, ere close of day

We should have sacked the town !" “Heaven help him !” quoth Lars Porsena,

“ And bring him safe to shore; For such a gallant feat of arms

Was never seen before."

And now he feels the bottom;

Now on dry earth he stands,
Now round him throng the Fathers

To press his gory hands;
And now with shouts and clapping,

And noise of weeping loud,
He enters through the River-gate,

Borne by the joyous crowd

ANNABEL LEE.

(EDGAR A. Poe.) It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived, whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love, and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea ;
But we loved with a love that was more than love,

I and my Annabel Lee-
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsmen came

And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

Went envying her and me,
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we,

Of many far wiser than we;
And neither the angels in heaven above,

Vor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee,
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so all the night-time, I lie down by the side of my darling--my darling--my life and my bride,

In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

BUGLE SONG.

'"Ennyson.)
The splendor falls on castle walls

And snowy summits old and 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, dyicg.

O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,

And thinner, clearer, further going;
O sweet and far, from cliff and scar,

The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,

They faint on hill or field or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,

And gro v forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

INVOCATION TO THE NEW YEAR.

(TENNYSON.) Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

The flying cloud, the frosty light;

The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring, happy bells, across the snow:

The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,

For those that here we see no more;

Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,

And ancient forms of party strife;

Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

The faithless coldness of the times;

Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
Ring out false pride in place and blood,

The civic slander and the spite;

Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of foul disease,

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;

Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant man and free,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand;

Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be.

THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.

(THOMAS HOOD.) 'Twas in the prime of summer time,

An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys

Came bounding out of school : There were some that ran and some that leapt,

Like troutlets in a pool.

Away they sped, with gamesome minds,

And souls untouch'd by sin;
To a level mead they came, and there

They drave the wickets in:
Pleasantly shone the setting sun

Over the town of Lynn.

Like sportive deer they coursed about,

And shouted as they ran,-
Turning to mirth all things of earth,

As only boyhood can;
But the Usher sat remote from all,

A melancholy man!
His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze;
For a burning thought was in his brow,

And his bosom ill at ease :
So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read

The book between his knees !

Leaf after leaf he turn’d it o'er,

Nor ever glanced aside,
For the peace of his soul he read that book

In the golden eventide:
Much study had made him very lean,

And pale, and leaden-eyed.
At last he shut the ponderous tome,

With a fast and fervent grasp
He strain’d the dusky covers close,

And fix'd the brazen hasp: “Oh, God! could I so close my mind,

And clasp it with a clasp !"
Then leaping on his feet upright,

Some moody turns he took,-
Now up the mead, then down the mead,

And past a shady nook,-
And, lo! he saw a little boy

That pored upon a book !