CLIX. THE LOVE OF COUNTRY AND OF HOME HERE is a land, of every land the pride, THER Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside; Where brighter suns dispense serener light, The wandering mariner, whose eye explores Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife, Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found? J. Montgomery What a world of merriment their melody foretells! In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. Hear the mellow wedding bells- What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats O, from out the sounding cells, How it dwells On the future! how it tells Of rapture that impels Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! Hear the loud alarum bells- What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! 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, And a resolute endeavor, Now now to sit, or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. What a tale their terror tells How they clang, and clash, and roar! On the bosom of the palpitating air! By the twanging And the clanging, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! Hear the tolling of the bells Iron bells! 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! From the rust within their throats, And the people-ah, the people- And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone And his merry bosom swells with the pean of the bells! And he dances, and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, To the pean of the bells - Keeping time, time, time To the throbbing of the bells Of the bells, bells, bells To the sobbing of the bells; 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 Bells, bells, bells To the moaning and the groaning of the bells! E. A. Pos. CLXI. THE RAVEN. ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore - Ah! distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore— And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 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, |