A slender cross of wood alone

Shall say, that here a maiden lies

In peace beneath the peaceful skies.

And gray old trees of hugest limb

Shall wheel their circling shadows round, To make the scorching sunlight dim

That drinks the greenness from the ground,
And drop their dead leaves on her mound.

When o'er their boughs the squirrels run,
And through their leaves the robins call,
And, ripening in the autumn sun,

The acorns and the chestnuts fall,
Doubt not that she will heed them all.

For her the morning choir shall sing
Its matins from the branches high,
And every minstrel-voice of spring,
That trills beneath the April sky,
Shall greet her with its earliest cry.
When, turning round their dial-track,
Eastward the lengthening shadows pass,
Her little mourners, clad in black,
The crickets, sliding through the grass,
Shall pipe for her an evening mass.

At last the rootlets of the trees

Shall find the prison where she lies,
And bear the buried dust they seize
In leaves and blossoms to the skies.
So

may the soul that warmed it rise!

If any, born of kindlier blood,

Should ask, "What maiden lies below?" Say only this: "A tender bud,

That tried to blossom in the snow,

Lies withered where the violets blow."

TENNYSON

1809-1892

ALFRED (BARON) TENNYSON was born in Lincolnshire, England, in 1809, and died at Aldworth, near Haslemere, Surrey, in 1892. He was the youngest of three brothers, all of whom were educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, and gave promise of intellectual greatness. Indeed, Wordsworth, estimating a volume of poems published in 1827, the joint work of Charles and Alfred Tennyson, found the contributions of Charles to be

entitled to the higher praise. Alfred Tennyson's first volume, "Poems, chiefly Lyrical," was published in 1830, and had a favorable reception, though there was nothing in it to foreshadow his later masterpieces. Two editions of Poems followed in 1832 and 1842. "The Princess," appearing in 1847, elicited various comment, though there was but one opinion among critics as to the delicacy and grace of its execution.

In 1850 Tennyson gave to the world a work which quieted all doubts as to his title to the highest rank among contemporary poets, and which was uni

versally received as an ample warrant for his appointment to succeed Words worth as Poet Laureate, — an appointment which was made in the same year. This was "In Memoriam," a lament for the poet's friend, Arthur Hallam. In it noble thoughts are conveyed in a guise of ideal beauty, in a combination which has hardly been surpassed in our literature. "Maud," published in 1855, added nothing to the poet's fame; and this must also be said of the many short poems from his pen which preceded the publication of "The Idyls of the King," in 1859. These poems are his masterpieces. They are, however, unequal in merit, the earlier Idyls being superior to their succesYet to the mass of readers the Laureate is best known by his shorter pieces. Among these are "The Queen of the May," "Locksley Hall," "Lady Clara Vere de Vere," and the exquisite songs which are scattered through "The Princess." The charm of Tennyson's poetry lies mainly in his felicity of diction, in his choice and arrangement of words and adjust ment of phrase and epithet. His influence upon the poetical spirit of our time has been very great, and to the purity of his Muse is largely due the comparative health of our poetical literature.

sors.

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE

HALF a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

Ali in the valley of death

Rode the Six Hundred.

"Forward the Light Brigade!

Charge for the guns," he said;
Into the valley of death
Rode the Six Hundred.'

"Forward the Light Brigade!"
No man was there dismayed,
Not though the soldiers knew
Some one had blundered:

1 The poem celebrates the great cavalry charge of the British at the batte of Balaklava, 25th October, 1854.

Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die;
Into the valley of death
Rode the Six Hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them,
Volleyed and thundered;

Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of death,

Into the mouth of hell

Rode the Six Hundred.

Flashed all their sabers bare,
Flashed as they turned in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while

All the world wondered:

Plunged in the battery smoke,

Right through the line they broke:

Cossack and Russian

Reeled from the saber stroke

Shattered and sundered:

Then they rode back, but not

Not the Six Hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them,

Volleyed and thundered;

Stormed at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well

Came through the jaws of death,
Back from the mouth of hell,

All that was left of them,

Left of Six Hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O, the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.

Honor the charge they made;
Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble Six Hundred !

LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE

LADY Clara Vere de Vere,

Of me you shall not win renown:
You thought to break a country heart
For pastime, ere you went to town.
At me you smiled, but unbeguiled
I saw the snare, and I retired:
The daughter of a hundred earls,
You are not one to be desired.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

I know you proud to bear your name, Your pride is yet no mate for mine,

Too proud to care from whence I came. Nor would I break for your sweet sake

A heart that doats on truer charms.

A simple maiden in her flower

Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

Some meeker pupil you must find,