"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 of my door!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming, And the lamp-light, o'er him streaming, throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow, that lies floating on the floor-- Shall be lifted--nevermore! 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 never within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathe, go mark him well,-- For him,--no minstrel raptures swell! High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch concentered all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored and unsung! Sir W. Scott. CLXIII. LOCHINVAR. 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; He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;-- But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented--the gallant came late; For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar!