1864. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



215 



THE BLITHE LAKE. 



BY FREDERICK TENNYSON. 



How the blithe lark runs up the golden stair 

 That leads through cloudy gates from heaven to 

 earth, 

 And all alone in the empyreal air, 

 Fills it with jubilant sweet sounds of mirth! 

 How far he seems, how far, 



With the light upon his wings- 

 Is it a bird or star 

 That shines and sings ? 



What matter if the days be dark and frore, 



This sunbeam tells of other days to be, 

 And singing in the light that floods him o'er, 

 In joy he overtakes futurity ; 



Under cloud-arches vast 



He peeps, and sees behind 

 Great summer coming fast 

 Adown the wind ! 



And now he dives into a rainbow's rivers, 



In streams of gold and purple he is drowned, 

 Shrilly the arrows of his song he shivers, 

 As though the stormy drops were turned to sound ; 

 And now he issues through 

 He scales a cloudy tower, 

 Faintly, like fallen dew 

 His fast notes shower. 



Let every wind be hushed, that I may hear 



The wondrous things he tells the world below; 

 Things that we dream of he is watching near ; 

 Hopes that we never dreamed he would bestow. 

 Alas ! the storm hath rolled 

 Back the gold gates again, 

 Or surely he hath told 

 All heaven to men ! 



So the victorious poet sings alone, 



And fills with light his solitary home, 

 And through that glory sees new worlds foreshown, 

 And hears high songs and triumphs yet to come; 

 He woos the air of time 



With thrills of golden cords, 

 And makes the world to climb 

 On linked words. 



What if his hairs be gray, his eyes be dim, 



If wealth forsakes him, and if friends be cold? 

 Wonder unbars the thousand gates to him ; 

 Truth never fails, nor beauty waxeth old ; 

 More than he tells, his eyes 

 Behold, his spirit hears — 

 Of grief and joy, and sighs 

 "Twixt joy and tears. 



Blest is the man who with the sound of song 

 Can charm away the heartache, and forget 

 The frost of penury and the sting of wrong, 

 And drown the fatal whisper of regret ! 

 Darker are the abodes 



Of kings, though his be poor, 

 While fancies, like the gods . 

 Pass through his door. 



Singing, thou scalest heaven upon thy wings, 



Then liftest a glad heart into the skies; 

 He maketh his own sunrise while he sings, 

 And turns the dusky earth to paradise. 

 I see thee sail along, 



Far up the sunny streams ; 

 Unseen, I hear his song, 

 I see his dreams. 



WORKING BULLS IN" SINGLE HARNESS. 



The Ontario Times gives some experiences in 

 this matter, and a correspondent of the Working 

 Farmer adds : 



My experience corroborates the statements of 

 the author as to the service of these animals when 

 properly trained. I keep three horses, and yet 

 most of my farm work, except plowing and drag- 

 ging, has for two years past been done by a bull. 



He is used for all kinds of drafts, on the ground, 

 on drag, in cart, in sleigh, in buggy, covered car- 

 riage, etc. He is used to cultivators, and rakes 

 hay without a driver. The harness used is simi- 

 lar to the one in ordinary use for a horse, except 

 that the collar and harhes are inverted. He is 

 more hardy than a horse, is guided with' perfect 

 ease and precision without reins, walks or trots, 

 and is as kind and docile as a pet kitten. I think 

 he will move as large a load as an ordinary horse. 

 He belongs to my son, a lad of fifteen, who has 

 broken and trained him. He will soon be five 

 years old, is a fine animal, a cross of the Devon 

 and Durham blood. He has a mate, a stag, so 

 that when needed he can be used for plowing 

 and dragging. My son is now training another, 

 which will be two in a few months. He can be 

 used already for almost any work, by being led. 

 Learning to drive without leading requires some 

 time and patience. 



BOOT CKOPS-THE TUBNIP. 



We have often urged upon the reader the con- 

 venience and economy of raising roots as a por- 

 tion of the winter food for farm stock ; cattle, 

 horses, sheep, swine and poultry. We believe the 

 time will come when they will be considered in- 

 dispensable to a profitable wintering of stock, and 

 when the farmer — through their help — will be 

 enabled to keep a fourth part more than he for- 

 merly had, on the same number of acres. This 

 state of things has been accomplished in England, 

 and a large portion of its arable land made per- 

 manently rich and productive mainly through the 

 process of raising and feeding out roots to stock. 



If anything is to be done in this direction, the 

 season is now at hand to attend to it. The prin- 

 cipal roots used for this purpose are the mangold 

 wurtzel and the swedes and flat turnip ; the beet, 

 in several varieties, and the carrot are also em- 

 ployed with success. Nothing is more easily pro- 

 duced than the common flat turnip. It may be 

 sown by itself or with the corn or potato crop, 

 and large quantities grown with the most trifling 

 care and cost, and it is thought not to materially 

 exhaust the soil upon which it grows. Its broad 

 leaves are supposed to find a large portion of its 

 nourishment in the atmosphere. 



The shape, form, color and modes of growth ex- 

 hibited by the members of this constantly increas- 

 ing family are almost infinite. Some are white, 

 some yellowish, some green and some tinged with 

 a delicate pink or purple ; — some grow with al- 

 most their entire bulk exposed above the surface 

 of the soil, — others entirely below it. In England 

 it is said not to be uncommon to see turnips weigh- 

 ing sixty or seventy pounds, although with us ten 

 or fourteen pounds is contemplated with astonish- 

 ment and chronicled as a wonderful development. 

 It is true that, although evidently not adapted for 

 transplanting — being of a watery and consequent- 

 ly of a fragile nature— the English turnip may be 



