BY ALFRED TENNYSON.

    The splendor² falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story： The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract³ leaps in glory.

    Blow, bugle, blow； set the wild echoes flying！ Blow, bugle； answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

    Oh hark！ oh hear！ how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going！ Oh sweet and far, from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing！

    Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying； Blow, bugle； answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

    Oh love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill, or field, or rivers 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.