And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" Merely this, and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore – Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore ; · "Tis the wind, and nothing more!" Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door, Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,— Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the Nightly shore Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore ! " Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, "Nevermore." Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust, and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Meant in croaking, "Nevermore." Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer, Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee by these angels he hath sent thee Respite respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." "Prophet," said I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil! By that heaven that bends above us by that God we both Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aiden, "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting And my soul from out that shadow, that lies floating on the floor- E. A. Poe. CLXII. SPIRIT OF PATRIOTISM. BREATHES there a man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, "This is my own, my native land!” Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, From wandering on a foreign strand? High though his titles, proud his name, Sir W. Scott. CLXIII. LOCHIN VAR. YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the West! Through all the wide Border his steed is the best; And save his good broadsword he weapon had none; He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar ! He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone; The bride had consented the gallant came late ; For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, "I long wooed your daughter; - my suit drink one cup of wine. There be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar ! " The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up - He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar; - So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace ! While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear — So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow!" cried young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan ; So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar! CLXIV. Sir W. Scott. MARMION TAKING LEAVE OF DOUGLAS. THE train from out the castle drew; But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : "Though something I might plain," he said, While in Tantallon's towers I stayed, Part we in friendship from your land, |