ICHABOD.

BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

[1807-1892.]

So FALLEN! so lost! the light withdrawn
Which once he wore!

The glory from his gray hairs gone
For evermore!

Revile him not! the Tempter hath
A snare for all;

And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath,
Befit his fall.

O! dumb be passion's stormy rage,
When he who might

Have lighted up and led his age
Falls back in night!

Scorn? Would the angels laugh to mark
A bright soul driven,
Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark
From hope and heaven?

Let not the land once proud of him
Insult him now;

Nor brand with deeper shame his dim
Dishonored brow!

But let its humbled sons, instead,
From sea to lake

A long lament as for the Dead
In sadness make!

Of all we loved and honored naught
Save power remains,

A fallen angel's pride of thought,
Still strong in chains.

All else is gone; from those great eyes
The soul hath fled:

When faith is lost, when honor dies,
The Man is dead.

THE BUOY-BELL.

BY CHARLES TENNYSON-TURNER.

[Younger brother of Alfred Tennyson; born 1808, died 1879.]

How like the leper, with his own sad cry
Enforcing its own solitude, it tolls!

That lonely bell set in the rushing shoals,
To warn us from the place of jeopardy!
O friend of man! sore vexed by Ocean's power,
The changing tides wash o'er thee day by day;
Thy trembling mouth is filled with bitter spray,
Yet still thou ringest on from hour to hour;
High is thy mission, though thy lot is wild-
To be in danger's realm a guardian sound:
In seamen's dreams a pleasant part to bear,
And earn their blessing as the year goes round;
And strike the keynote of each grateful prayer
Breathed in their distant homes by wife or child.

POEMS OF CHARLES KINGSLEY.

[English clergyman, 1819-1875; wrote "Alton Locke" (1849), "Yeast" (1851), "Hypatia" (1853), "Water Babies" (1853), "Westward Ho !" (1855), etc. His controversy with Newman brought out Newman's "Apologia."]

THE THREE FISHERS.

THREE fishers went sailing out into the west.

Out into the west as the sun went down;

Each thought of the woman who loved him the best,
And the children stood watching them out of the town;
For men must work, and women must weep;

And there's little to earn, and many to keep,

Though the harbor bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,

And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;

They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
And the night rack came rolling up, ragged and brown;
But men must work, and women must weep,
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
And the harbor bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands,
In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their hands
For those who will never come back to the town;

The Three Fishers