For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie

dear;

I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here; With all my strength I pray'd for both, and so I felt resign'd,

And

up the valley came a swell of music on the wind.

I thought that it was fancy, and I listen'd in my bed, And then did something speak to me-I know not what was said;

For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind,

And up the valley came again the music on the wind.

But you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not for them:

it's mine."

And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for

a sign.

And once again it came, and close beside the window

bars,

Then seemed to go right up to Heaven, and die among the stars.

So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I know The blessed music went that way my soul will have

to go.

And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day.
But, Effie, you must comfort her when I am past

away.

And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret!

There's many worthier than I, would make him happy yet

If I had lived-I cannot tell—I might have been his

wife;

But all these things have ceased to be with my desire

of life.

O look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a

glow;

He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know.

And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine

Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine.

O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done

The voice that now is speaking, may be beyond the

sun

For ever and for ever with those just souls and true— And what is life, that we should moan? why make we such ado?

For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home

And there to wait a little while, till you and Effie

come

To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your

breast

And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary

are at rest.

(By permission of the Publishers.)

CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.

BY ALFRED TENNYSON.

HALF a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,
All in the valley of death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said
Into the valley of death,
Rode the six hundred,

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldiers knew
Some one had blundered:

Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of death,
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them,

Volleyed and thundered:

Stormed at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well:

Into the jaws of death,
Into the mouth of hell,

Rode the six hundred,

Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air,
Sab'ring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while

All the world wondered: Plunged in the battery smoke, Right through the line they broke: Cossack and Russian

Reeled from the sabre-stroke,
Shattered and sundered,

Then they rode back-but not,
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them,

Volleyed and thundered: Stormed at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well,
Came through the jaws of death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O, the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

(By permission of the Publishers.)

LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE

BY ALFRED TENNYSON.

LADY Clara Vere de Vere, of me you shall not win

renown,

You thought to break a country heart for pastime, ere you went to town.

At me you smiled, but unbeguiled I saw the snare, and I retired:

The daughter of a hundred earls, you are not one to be desired.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, I know you proud to bear your name,

Your pride is yet no mate for mine, too proud to care from whence I came.

Nor would I break for your sweet sake a heart that doats on truer charms,

A simple maiden in her flower is worth a hundred coats-of-arms.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, some meeker pupil you must find,

For were you queen of all that is, I could not stoop to such a mind.

You sought to prove how I could love, and my disdain is my reply.

The lion on your old stone gates is not more cold to you than I.