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...Tennyson carved on the frame of that picture — "Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, 0 seal But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me." Oh ! the sorrow which has filled the heart of many a youth, as he has stood by the grave of father...

...burning gaily. What is Madame Bois de Sandal, nee Dashwood, singing in the music-room? Tlie tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me ! That is the burden of many songs sung in this world, for some dead flowers strew most paths, and...

...vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! " Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me." Vol. ii. p. 229. Yet there are parts of these volumes which appear to us objectionable. We would rather...

...stately ships go on To their haven under the hill ; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break,...of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. THE POET'S SONG. THE rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He pass'd by the town, and out of the street...

...vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still. Break—break—break, On thy cold grey stones, oh sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me! TEXSTSOK. AT the present season of the year, Basil had little difficulty in obtaining leave of absence...

...poet of our own day by the death of his friend:— Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. The sea's voice breaking on its "cold, grey stones" has sung a song of natural and inevitable fate;...

...vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to uie." In one though a very low sense, the fisher-boy in his boat on the laughing sea, the youth when...

...'d hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. THE POET'S SONG. THE rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He pass'd by the town, and out of the street;...

...vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea, But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN Burns. WHEN chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare, One evening,...