THE ANGLER'S REVEILLE

[From The Toiling of Felix.]

WHAT time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips

of night,

And all the drowsy little stars have fallen asleep in light; 'Tis then a wandering wind awakes, and runs from tree

to tree,

And borrows words from all the birds to sound the reveille.

This is the carol the Robin throws

Over the edge of the valley;

Listen how boldly it flows,

Sally on sally:

Tirra-lirra,

Down the river,

Laughing water

All a-quiver.

Day is near,
Clear, clear.

Fish are breaking,

Time for waking.

Tup, tup, tup!

Do you hear?

All clear

Wake up!

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THE ANGLER'S REVEILLE

The phantom flood of dreams has ebbed and vanished with the dark,

And like a dove the heart forsakes the prison of the ark; Now forth she fares through friendly woods and diamondfields of dew,

While every voice cries out "Rejoice!" as if the world

were new.

This is the ballad the Bluebird sings,

Unto his mate replying,

Shaking the tune from his wings

While he is flying:

Surely, surely, surely,

Life is dear

Even here.

Blue above,

You to love,
Purely, purely, purely.

There's wild azalea on the hill, and roses down the dell, And just one spray of lilac still a-bloom beside the well; The columbine adorns the rocks, the laurel buds grow

pink,

Along the stream white arums gleam, and violets bend to drink.

THE ANGLER'S REVEILLE

This is the song of the Yellowthroat,

Fluttering gaily beside you;
Hear how each voluble note
Offers to guide you:

Which way, sir?
I say, sir,

Let me teach you,
I beseech you!
Are you wishing
Jolly fishing?

This way, sir!
I'll teach you.

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Then come, my friend, forget your foes, and leave your fears behind,

And wander forth to try your luck, with cheerful, quiet

mind;

For be your fortune great or small, you'll take what God may give,

And all the day your heart shall say, ""Tis luck enough to live."

This is the song the Brown Thrush flings

Out of his thicket of roses;

Hark how it warbles and rings,

Mark how it closes:

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THE ANGLER'S REVEILLE

Luck, luck,

What luck?

Good enough for me!

I'm alive, you see.

Sun shining,

No repining;

Never borrow

Idle sorrow;
Drop it!

Cover it up!
Hold your cup!

Joy will fill it,

Don't spill it,

Steady, be ready,

Good luck!

HENRY VAN DYKE.

BUGLE SONG

HE splendor falls on castle walls,

THE

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.

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 river:

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. TENNYSON.