And grow forever and forever.

Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying;

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

—Tennyson.

LITTLE BOY BLUE.[7]

The little toy dog is covered with dust,

But sturdy and stanch he stands;

And the little toy soldier is red with rust,

And his musket moulds in his hands.

Time was when the little toy dog was new,