The American Union Speaker Part 24

Minds are of celestial birth; Make we then a heaven of earth.

Closer, closer, let us knit Hearts and hands together, Where our fireside comforts sit, In the wildest weather; O! they wander wide who roam For the joys of life from home!

J. Montgomery.

CLIX.

THE L0VE OF COUNTRY AND OF HOME.

There is a land, of every land the pride, 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 sh.o.r.es, 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 n.o.blest 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, however thy footsteps roam, That land thy country, and that spot thy home!

J. Montgomery.

CLX.

THE BELLS

Hear the sledges with the bells-- Silver bells!

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, Bells bells, bells-- From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

Hear the mellow wedding bells-- Golden bells!

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, Bells, bells, bells-- 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 tw.a.n.ging 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!

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 s.h.i.+ver 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 m.u.f.fled 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, Rolls A paean from the bells!

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

And he dances, and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean 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-- To the moaning and the groaning of the bells!

E. A. Poe.

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.

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 door;-- 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, 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;-- 'T is the wind, and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore: Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or 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 sh.o.r.e-- Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian sh.o.r.e!"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-- Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door-- With such a name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered--not a feather then he fluttered-- Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before-- 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, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast, and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore-- Of 'Nevermore'--'Nevermore'"

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cus.h.i.+oned seat in front of bird, and bust, and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-- What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking, "Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cus.h.i.+on's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen Censor, Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy G.o.d 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."