On through the portal's frowning arch,
And thronged around the board.
While at its head, within his dark,
Carved oaken chair of state,
Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger,
With girded falchion, sate.

"Fill every beaker up, my men,

Pour forth the cheering wine;

There's life and strength in every drop,― Thanksgiving to the vine!

Are

ye all there, my vassals true?—
Mine eyes are waxing dim ;-

Fill round, my tried and fearless ones,
Each goblet to the brim.

"Ye're there, but yet I see ye not.
Draw forth each trusty sword,-
And let me hear your faithful steel
Clash once around my board:
I hear it faintly:-Louder yet!-
What clogs my heavy breath?
Up all, and shout for Rudiger,
'Defiance unto Death!'"

Bowl rang to bowl,-steel clanged to steel -And rose a deafening cry

That made the torches flare around,

And shook the flags on high :

:

"Ho! cravens, do ye fear him?Slaves, traitors! have ye flown? Ho! cowards, have ye left me

To meet him here alone?

"But I defy him :-let him come !"

Down rang the massy cup,

While from its sheath the ready blade

Came flashing half-way up;

And, with the black and heavy plumes

Scarce trembling on his head,

There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair,
Old Rudiger sat, dead.

CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALAKLAVA.

TENNYSON.

HALF a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew

Some one had blundered:

Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volleyed and thundered;

Stormed at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred:

Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while

All the world wondered:
Plunged in the battery-smoke,

Right through the line they broke; Cossack and Russian

Reeled from the sabre-stroke

Shattered and sundered.

Then they rode back, but not―

Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O, the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred!

BEAUTIFUL SNOW.-WATSON..

OH! the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and the earth below;
Over the house-tops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet;
Dancing,
Flirting,

Skimming along.

Beautiful snow! it can do nothing wrong.
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek;
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak.
Beautiful snow, from the heavens above
Pure as an angel and fickle as love!

Oh! the snow,

the beautiful snow!

How the flakes gather and laugh as they go! Whirling about in its maddening fun,

It plays in its glee with every one.

Chasing,
Laughing,
Hurrying by

It lights up the face and it sparkles the eye;
And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound,
Snap at the crystals that eddy around.
The town is alive, and its heart in a glow
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow.

How the wild crowd goes swaying along,
Hailing each other with humor and song!
How the gay sledges like meteors flash by-
Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye,
Ringing,
Swinging,

Dashing they go

Over the crest of the beautiful snow:

Snow so pure when it falls from the sky,

To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by:
To be trampled and tracked by the thousands of feet
Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street.

Once I was pure as the snow-but I fell :
Fell, like the snow-flakes, from heaven-to hell:
Fell, to be tramped as the filth of the street:
Fell, to be scoffed, to be spit on, and beat.

Pleading,
Cursing,

Dreading to die,

Selling my soul to whoever would buy,
Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread,
Hating the living and fearing the dead.
Merciful God! have I fallen so low?
And yet I was once like this beautiful snow!

Once I was fair as the beautiful snow,

With an eye like its crystals, a heart like its glow;
Once I was loved for my innocent grace-

Flattered and sought for the charm of my face.

Father,
Mother,

Sisters all,

God, and myself, I have lost by my fall.

The veriest wretch that goes shivering by

Will take a wide sweep, lest I wander too nigh;
For all that is on or about me, I know

There is nothing that's pure but the beautiful snow.

How strange it should be that this beautiful snow
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go!
How strange it would be, when the night comes again,
If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain!

Fainting,
Freezing,
Dying alone!