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.

LORD TENNYSON.

334

Come into the garden, Maud,

For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud,

I am here at the gate alone ;

And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, 5 And the musk of the roses blown.

For a breeze of morning moves,

And the planet of Love is on high,

Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky,

To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die.

All night have the roses heard

The flute, violin, bassoon ;

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All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd 15 To the dancers dancing in tune;

Till a silence fell with the waking bird,

And a hush with the setting moon.

I said to the lily, 'There is but one

With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play.'
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day ;

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Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.

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I said to the rose, The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.

O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,
For one that will never be thine ?

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But mine, but mine,' so I sware to the rose, 'For ever and ever, mine.'

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash'd in the hall;

And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall

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From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,

Our wood, that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs

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He sets the jewel-print of your feet
In violets blue as your eyes,

To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree;

The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;

But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me;

The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done,

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In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one ;

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Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear

From the passion-flower at the gate.

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She is coming, my dove, my dear;

She is coming, my life, my fate

The red rose cries, She is near, she is near
And the white rose weeps, 'She is late;

The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear;'
And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'

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She is coming, my own, my sweet ;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

LORD TENNYSON.

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335

In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers: Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

It is the little rift within the lute,
That by and by will make the music mute,
And ever widening slowly silence all.

The little rift within the lover's lute,
Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit,
That rotting inward slowly moulders all.

It is not worth the keeping: let it go: But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no. And trust me not at all or all in all.

LORD TENNYSON.

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336

THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS

Some Sikhs and a private of the Buffs having remained behind with the grog carts, fell into the hands of the Chinese. On the next morning they were brought before the authorities, and commanded to perform the Kotow. The Sikhs obeyed; but Moyse, the English soldier, declaring that he would not prostrate himself before any Chinaman alive, was immediately knocked upon the head, and his body thrown on a dunghill.-The Times.

Last night, among his fellow roughs,
He jested, quaffed, and swore,

A drunken private of the Buffs,
Who never looked before.

To-day, beneath the foeman's frown,
He stands in Elgin's place,

Ambassador from Britain's crown,

And type of all her race.

Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught,

Bewildered, and alone,

A heart, with English instinct fraught,
He yet can call his own.

Aye, tear his body limb from limb,
Bring cord, or axe, or flame :

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He only knows, that not through him
Shall England come to shame.

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Far Kentish hop-fields round him seem'd,
Like dreams, to come and go;

Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleam'd,
One sheet of living snow;

The smoke, above his father's door,
In grey soft eddyings hung :

Must he then watch it rise no more,
Doom'd by himself so young?

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Yes, honour calls !—with strength like steel

He put the vision by.

Let dusky Indians whine and kneel;

An English lad must die.

And thus, with eyes that would not shrink, With knee to man unbent,

Unfaltering on its dreadful brink,

To his red grave he went.

Vain, mightiest fleets of iron framed ;
Vain, those all-shattering guns;
Unless.proud England keep, untamed,
The strong heart of her sons.

So, let his name through Europe ring—
A man of mean estate,

Who died, as firm as Sparta's King,
Because his soul was great.

SIR F. H. DOYLE.

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337

A CHRISTMAS HYMN

It was the calm and silent night !—
Seven hundred years and fifty-three
Had Rome been growing up to might,

And now was Queen of land and sea!
No sound was heard of clashing wars;
the

Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain ;

Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars,

Held undisturbed their ancient reign,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago!

'Twas in the calm and silent night!
The senator of haughty Rome
Impatient urged his chariot's flight
From lordly revel rolling home!

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