The meadows are yours, the hedgerow and brook,

You may bathe in their dews at morn;

By the aged sea you may sound your shells,
On the mountains erect your horn;

The fruits and the flowers are your rightful dowers,
Then why-in the name of wonder—
Should my six pea-rows be the only cause
To excite your midnight plunder?

I have never disturbed your slender shells;
You have hung round my aged walk;

And each might have sat, till he died in his fat,
Beneath his own cabbage stalk;

But now you must fly from the soil of your sires;
Then put on your liveliest crawl,

And think of your poor little snails at home,
Now orphans or emigrants all.

Utensils domestic and civil and social

I give you an evening to pack up;

But if the moon of this night does not rise on your flight,
To-morrow I'll hang each man Jack up.

You'll think of my peas and your thievish tricks,
With tears of slime, when crossing the Styx.

THE BUGLE

The splendor falls on castle walls

And snowy summits old in story;

The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying.

Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O hark! O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!

O 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.

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,

ANONYMOUS.

And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

TENNYSON.

THE SKYLARK

Bird of the wilderness,

Blithesome and cumberless,

Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!

Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place,

O, to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud

Far in the downy cloud,

Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.
Where, on thy dewy wing,

Where art thou journeying!

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
O'er fell and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain green,

O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,
Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim,

Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!

Then, when the gloaming comes,

Low in the heather blooms

Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place,

O, to abide in the desert with thee!

TO A WATERFOWL

Whither, midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue

Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,

Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink

Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean-side?

There is a Power whose care

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,—
The desert and illimitable air,—

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned,

At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,

Though the dark night is near.

JAMES HOGG.

And soon that toil shall end;

Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,

And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven

Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart:

He who, from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight

In the long way that I must tread alone,

Will lead my steps aright.

THE FOOLISH VIRGINS

The Queen looked up and said,

"O maiden, if indeed you list to sing,

Sing, and unbind my heart, that I may weep."
Whereat full willingly sang the little maid:

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

"Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill!
Late, late, so late! but we can enter still.
Too late, too late! Ye can not enter now.

"No light had we; for that we do repent;
And learning this, the bridegroom will relent.
Too late, too late! Ye can not enter now.

"No light; so late! and dark and chill the night!
O, let us in, that we may find the light!
Too late, too late! Ye can not enter now.

"Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet?
O, let us in, though late, to kiss his feet!
No, no, too late! Ye can not enter now."

So sang the novice, while full passionately,

Her head upon her hands, wept the sad Queen.

Helpful Books

TENNYSON.

1930.

Mental Aspect of Stammering. C. S. Bluemel. Baltimore, Md., Williams & Wilkins Co.
Speech Correction. Richard C. Borden and Alvin C. Busse. New York, F. S. Crofts Co. 1925.
The Correction of Speech Defects. Helen M. Peppard. New York, Macmillan Company. 1925.
Speech Pathology and Methods in Speech Correction. Sara M. Stinchfield. Boston, Mass.,
Expression Co. 1928.

Defects of Speech. Ida C. Ward. New York, E. P. Dutton. 1923.

ELISE H. MARTENS

SENIOR SPECIALIST IN THE EDUCATION OF EXCEPTIONAL CHILDREN
OFFICE OF EDUCATION