And whitening and brightening, and quiver

ing and shivering,

And hurrying and skurrying, and thundering

and floundering;

Dividing and gliding and sliding,

And falling and brawling and sprawling,
And driving and riving and striving,

And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling,
And sounding and bounding and rounding,
And bubbling and troubling and doubling,
And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,
And clattering and battering and shattering;

Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting,

Delaying and straying and playing and spraying,

Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,

Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling,

And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming,

And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping,

And curling and whirling and purling and twirling,

And thumping and pumping and bumping and jumping,

And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing;

And so never ending, but always descend

ing,

Sounds and motions for ever and ever are blending,

All at once and all o'er, with a mighty up

roar,

And this way the water comes down at Lodore.

IT NEVER COMES AGAIN.

R. H. STODDARD.

There are gains for all our losses,
There are balms for all our pain;
But when youth, the dream, departs,
It takes something from our hearts,
And it never comes again.

We are stronger and are better
Under manhood's sterner reign.
Still, we feel that something sweet
Followed youth, with flying feet,
And will never come again.

Something beautiful is vanished,
And we sigh for it in vain.
We behold it everywhere,
On the earth and in the air,
But it never comes again.

THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.

TENNYSON.

[Condensed.]

DEDICATORY POEM TO THE PRINCESS ALICE.

Dead Princess, living Power, if that, which

lived

True life, live on

if what we call

The spirit flash not all at once from out This shadow into substance - then perhaps The mellow'd murmur of the people's praise

Ascends to thee; and this March morn that

sees

Thy soldier-brother's bridal orange-bloom
Break thro' the yews and cypress of thy grave,
And thine Imperial mother smile again,
May send one ray to thee: and who can tell-
Thou- England's England-loving daughter-

thou

Dying so English thou wouldst have her flag Borne on thy coffin where is he can swear

But that some broken gleam from our poor earth

May touch thee? While remembering thee, I lay

At thy pale feet this ballad of the deeds
Of England, and her banner in the East:

I.

Banner of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast thou

Floated in conquering battle or flapt to the battle-cry!

Never with mightier glory than when we had reared thee on high,

Flying at the top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of Lucknow

Shot thro' the staff or the halyard, but ever

we raised thee anew,

And ever upon the topmost roof our banner

of England blew.