to catch those fleeting images of beauty which he has built into magic word-pictures. We may trust his sympathies, when he addresses men as

"Men my brothers, men the workers: "

and when he tells us that

"Kind hearts are more than coronets,

And simple faith than Norman blood."

THE POET'S SONG.

The rain had fallen, the Poet arose,

He passed by the town and out of the street; A light wind blew from the gates of the sun, And waves of shadow went over the wheat. And he sat him down in a lonely place,

And chanted a melody loud and sweet,
That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud,
And the lark drop down at his feet.

The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee,
The snake slipt under a spray,

The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak,
And stared, with his foot on the prey,

And the nightingale thought, "I have sung many

songs,

But never a one so gay,

For he sings of what the world will be
When the years have died away."

ANALYSIS OF "THE POET'S SONG."

In a little allegory, called "The Poet's Song," Mr. Tennyson tells us his idea of a poet's work.

It had rained one summer day. But now it was clear and bright. A light west wind was sending shadows over the wheat fields. Inspired by the sight of invigorated, purified nature, a poet, who has watched all, passed from his room, out of the town and away from the streets.

He found his favorite spot where, seating himself, he began to sing.

Up in the sky among the clouds were a wild swan and a lark. The swan paused in rapture, and the lark, wild with joy, dropped at the feet of the singer.

A roving swallow, hearing the song, forgot the bee it was chasing. A snake could not glide away to its hiding-place, but waited under a spray of leaves.

A hawk, with its bill already covered with down, paused, tarried for a moment. The nightingale, sweetest of the bird choir, owned herself surpassed.

Listening, she found that the wonderful song told what this world is to be "when the years have died away." Something very beautiful Tennyson thinks it is to be so beautiful that the hawk nature in man will be tamed.

The swallowlike busybodies will become earnest.

The shy, snake-like spirit is to be wholly changed. People are to acknowledge the good and true as the snowy swan and the joyous lark first felt the beauty of the poet's song.

Would not that be a joyous time in which to live?

So Tennyson, a true poet, proclaims to us a better world, a thought which is found in many of his poems and which you may especially look for in "Ring out Wild Bells."

CRADLE SONG.

(From "Sea Dreams.")

What does little birdie say
In her nest at peep of day?
Let me fly, says little birdie,
Mother, let me fly away.
Birdie, rest a little longer,

Till the little wings are stronger.
So she rests a little longer,
Then she flies away.

What does little baby say
In her bed at peep of day?
Baby says, like little birdie,
Let me rise and fly away.
Baby, sleep a little longer,
Till the little limbs are stronger.
If she sleeps a little longer

Baby, too, shall fly away.

TOO LATE.

(From "Guinevere.")

Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill!
Late, late, so late! but we can enter still.
Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now.

No light had we: for that we do repent;
And learning this, the bridegroom will relent.
Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now.

No light; so late! and dark and chill the night!

Oh, let us in, that we may find the light!

Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now.

Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet? Oh, let us in, tho' late, to kiss his feet!

No, no, too late! ye cannot enter now.

GO NOT, HAPPY DAY.

(From "Maud.")

Go not, happy day,

From the shining fields;

Go not, happy day,

Till the maiden yields;

Rosy is the West,

Rosy is the South,

Roses are her cheeks,

And a rose her mouth.

When the happy Yes

Falters from her lips,

Pass and blush the news

O'er the blowing ships.
Over blowing seas,

Over seas at rest,

Pass the happy news,

Blush it through the West;
Till the red man dance

By his red cedar tree,
And the red man's babe
Leap beyond the sea.
Blush from West to East,
Blush from East to West,
Till the West is East,

Blush it through the West.
Rosy is the West,

Rosy is the South,

Roses are her cheeks,

And a rose her mouth.

THE BUGLE SONG.

(From "The Princess.")

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,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!

O sweet and far from cliff and sear

The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!