There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have Oh, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath scope and breathing-space; not set;

I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my Ancient founts of inspiration well through all my dusky race. fancy yet.

Iron-jointed, supple-sinewed, they shall dive, and Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to they shall run, Locksley Hall! Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the lances in the sun; roof-tree fall.

Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rain- Comes a vapor from the margin, blackening over bows of the brooks, heath and holt,

Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a books. thunderbolt.

Fool, again the dream, the fancy! but I know my Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or words are wild, fire or snow; But I count the gray barbarian lower than the For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and Christian child.

I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious gains,

Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with lower pains!

Mated with a squalid savage, what to me were sun or clime?

I, the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time

I, that rather held it better men should perish one by one,

Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's moon in Ajalon!

Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, for

ward let us range;

Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.

Through the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day:

Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.

Mother-age, (for mine I knew not,) help me as when life begun

Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings, weigh the sun

I go.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

Oh that 'twere Possible.
OH that 'twere possible,

After long grief and pain,
To find the arms of my true love
Round me once again!

When I was wont to meet her

In the silent woody places
Of the land that gave me birth,

We stood tranced in long embraces
Mixt with kisses sweeter, sweeter
Than anything on earth.

A shadow flits before me,

Not thou, but like to thee;
Ah Christ, that it were possible

For one short hour to see

The souls we loved, that they might tell us
What and where they be!

It leads me forth at evening,
It lightly winds and steals
In a cold white robe before me,
When all my spirit reels

At the shouts, the leagues of lights,

And the roaring of the wheels.