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CLIX.

THE LOVE OF COUNTRY AND OF HOME.

HERE is a land, of every land the pride,

TH

Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside;
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And milder moons imparadise the night;
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth,
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth.

The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air;
In every clime, the magnet of his soul,
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole;
For in this land of Heaven's peculiar grace,
The heritage of Nature's noblest race,
There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,
While, in his softened looks, benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend.

Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life!
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie;
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.

Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?
Art thou a man? a patriot? — look around;
O! thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, and that spot thy home!

J. Montgomery.

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What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that over sprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,

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From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

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What a world of happiness their harmony foretells !
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
All in time,

What a liquid ditty floats

To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!

O, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells,

How it dwells

On the future! how it tells

Of rapture that impels

To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

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To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

Hear the loud alarum bells
Brazen bells!

What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night

How they scream out their affright!

Too much horrified to speak,

They can only shriek, shriek,

Out of time,

In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,

•And a resolute endeavor,

Now now to sit, or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
O, the bells, bells, bells!

What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!

How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour

On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear, it fully knows,

By the twanging

And the clanging,

How the danger sinks and swells,

By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells

Of the bells

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells

In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

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What a world of solemn thought their monody compels !

In the silence of the night,

How we shiver with affright

At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats

From the rust within their throats,
Is a groan.

And the people-ah, the people-
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,

And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,

In that muffled monotone,

Feel a glory in so rolling

On the human heart a stone
They are neither man nor woman
They are neither brute nor human
They are Ghouls ;

And their king it is who tolls;

And he rolls, rolls, rolls,

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And his merry bosom swells with the pean of the bells!

And he dances, and he yells;

Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pean of the bells
Of the bells:

Keeping time, time, time
In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the throbbing of the bells

Of the bells, bells, bells —

To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,

As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells
Of the bells, bells, bells;

To the tolling of the bells

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells;

Bells, bells, bells

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To the moaning and the groaning of the bells!

E. A. Poe.

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CLXI.

THE RAVEN.

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and

weary,

-

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
""T is some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah! distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow, From my books, surcease of sorrow sorrow for the lost

Lenore

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore— Nameless here for evermore.

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And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
""T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I," or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you " - here I opened wide the

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-

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken and the darkness gave no token,

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