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FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing :
Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
5 For the old year lies a-dying.

Old year, you must not die;
You came to us so readily,

You lived with us so steadily,
Old year, you shall not die.

10 He lieth still : he doth not move:

He will not see the dawn of day.
He hath no other life above.
He gave me a friend, and a true true love,
And the New-year will take 'em away.
Old

year, you must not go;
So long as you have been with us,
Such joy as you have seen with us,
Old year, you shall not go.

15

He froth'd his bumpers to the brim ; 20 A jollier year we shall not see.

But tho' his eyes are waxing dim,
And tho' his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.

Old year, you shall not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you,
I've half a mind to die with you,
Old
year, you

must die.

25

He was full of joke and jest,

But all his merry quips are o'er. 30 To see him die, across the waste

His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he 'll be dead before.

Every one for his own.
The night is starry and cold, my friend,
And the New-year blithe and bold, my

friend,
Comes up to take his own.

35

How hard he breathes ! over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.

The shadows flicker to and fro:
40 The cricket chirps: the light burns low:
'T is nearly twelve o'clock.

Shake hands, before you die.
Old year, we'll dearly rue for you:
What is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.

45

Close up

eyes : tie

His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone.
his

up

his chin: Step from the corpse, and let him in 50 That standeth there alone,

And waiteth at the door.
There's a new foot on the floor, my friend,
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new face at the door.

CROSSING THE BAR.

Crossing the Bar was contained in the volume of 1889, Demeter and Other Poems. For a singer of eighty years to strike so truly lyrical a note, to show himself as eminently a poet as in his prime, was not the least of Tennyson's achievements. The verses were sung at the poet's funeral in Westminster Abbey. The last poem he wrote, with music by Lady Tennyson, was also a part of the service.

SUNSET and evening star,

And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea, 3. Moaning of the bar. A familiar line in Charles Kingsley's

5 But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep

Turns again home.

10

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark !
And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark;

For though from out our bourne of time and place The flood

may

bear me far, 15 I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crost the bar.

poem, The Three Fishers, comes to mind, — “And the harbor bar be moaning."

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