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, Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying: O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: 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, THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 'T was in the prime of summer time, An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out of school: Thomas Ho d. 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; Turning to mirth all things of earth, As only boyhood can; But the Usher sat remote from all, 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, At last he shut the ponderous tome, Then leaping on his feet upright, Now up the mead, then down the mead, And past a shady nook, And, lo! he saw a little boy "My gentle lad, what is 't you read Romance or fairy fable? Or is it some historic page, Of kings and crowns unstable?" The young boy gave an upward glance,"It is The Death of Abel."" The Usher took six hasty strides, And down he sat beside the lad, And, long since then, of bloody men Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And how the sprites of injured men He told how murderers walked the earth With crimson clouds before their eyes, For blood has left upon their souls "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!' A sluggish water, black as ink, "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, "And peace went with them, one and all, But Guilt was my grim Chamberlain 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, For Sin had render'd unto her "All night I lay in agony, From weary chime to chime, "One stern tyrannic thought, that made Did that temptation crave, |