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Never here, forever there,
Where all parting, pain, and care,
And death, and time shall disappear,-
Forever there, but never here !
The horologe of Eternity
Sayeth this incessantly,-

“ Forever - never !
Never - forever!

BUGLE SONG. From “ The Princess."— Tennyson, 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, further going;
O sweet and far, from cliff and scar,

The horns of Elfand faintly blowing !
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,

They faint on hill or field or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,

And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.

Thomas Ho.d.

'T was in the prime of summer time,

An evening calm and cool,
And four-and-twenty happy boys

Came bounding out of school:
There were some that ran and some that leapt,

Like troutlets in a pool.

Away they sped with gamesome minds,

And souls untouch'd by sin;

To a level mead they came, and there

They drave the wickets in : Pleasantly shown the setting sun

Over the town of Lynn.

Like sportive deer they coursed about,

And shouted as they ran,-
Turning to mirth all things of earth,

As only boyhood can;
But the Usher sat remote from all,

A melancholy man!

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze;
For a burning thought was in his brow,

And his bosom ill at ease :
So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read

The book between his knees !

Leaf after leaf he turn'd it o'er,

Nor ever glanced aside,
For the peace of his soul he read that book

In the golden eventide :
Much study had made him very lean,

And pale, and leaden-eyed.

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The young boy gave an upward glance, “ It is · The Death of Abel.'

The Usher took six hasty strides,

As smit with sudden pain,-
Six hasty strides beyond the place,

Then slowly back again;
And down he sat beside the lad,

And talk'd with him of Cain;

And, long since then, of bloody men

Whose deeds tradition saves;
Of lonely folk cut off unseen,

And hid in sudden graves;
Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn,

And murders done in caves;

And how the sprites of injured men

Shriek upward from the sod,-
Ay, how the ghostly hand will point

To show the burial clod;
And unknown facts of guilty acts

Are seen in dreams from God;

He told how murderers walked the earth

Beneath the curse of Cain,-
With crimson clouds before their eyes,

And flames about their brain :
For blood has left upon their souls

Its everlasting stain !

“ And well,” quoth he, “I know, for truth,

Their pangs must be extreme,– Woe, woe, unutterable woe,

Who spill life's sacred stream! For why? Methought, last night, I wrought

A murder, in a dream!

« One that had never done me wrong

A feeble man and old ;
I led him to a lonely field, -

The moon shown clear and cold :
• Now here,' said I, 'this man shall die,

And I will have his gold!

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A sluggish water, black as ink,

The depth was so extreme:
My gentle Boy, remember this

Is nothing but a dream !

“Down went the corse with a hollow plunge,

And vanish'd in the pool;
Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,

And wash'd my forehead cool,
And sat among the urchins young,

That evening in the school.

“Oh, Heaven! to think of their white souls,

And mine so black and grim!
I could not share in childish prayer,

Nor join in Evening Hymn:
Like a Devil of the Pit I seem'd,

'Mid holy Cherubim !

“And peace went with them, one and all,

And each calm pillow spread;
But Guilt was my grim Chamberlain

That lighted me to bed ;
And drew my midnight curtains round,

With fingers bloody red !

“All night I lay in agony,

In anguish dark and deep,
My fever'd eyes I dared not close,

But stared aghast at Sleep:
For Sin had render'd unto her

The keys of Hell to keep!

“All night I lay in agony,

From weary chime to chime,
With one besetting horrid hint,

That rack'd me all the time;
A mighty yearning, like the first

Fierce impulse unto crime !

“One stern tyrannic thought, that made

All other thoughts its slave; Stronger and stronger every pulse

Did that temptation crave,

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