And the stately ships go on
To the haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a 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.


_Tennyson_.


[Illustration: Tennyson]


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_55_


barns
deaf en ing
i dol' a trous
pon' der
ca lum' ni ate