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Till I scarcely more than mutter'd, “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
Follow'd fast and followed faster, till his song one burden bore, -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore,

Of Nevermore-nevermore!'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeld a cushion'd 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!"

This 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 cushion'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 censer Swung by seraphim, whose 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, oh 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!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest toss'd thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by Horror haunted ---tell me truly, I implore-
Is there-is there balm in Gilead ? tell me, tell me, I implore!"

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 adore, Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore;
Clasp a fair and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore !"

Quoth the raven, “Nevermore!"

“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
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!

LXXXIV.

HOME AND SCHOOL INFLUENCE ESPECIALLY NECESSARY IN

TIME OF WAR.

J. M. GREGORY_1862.

war.

The grand march of humanity stops not in its course even for

From the cradle to the coffin, the crowding columns move on with lock-step through the successive stages of life. Childhood cannot halt in its progress for returning peace to afford leisure for education. On into the years -- to manhood, to citizenship, to destiny-it rushes, whether learning lights its path and guides its steps, or ignorance involves it in error and conducts it headlong into vice. And if in peace the school is needful to rear our children to an intelligent and virtuous manhood, how much greater the need

with its inseparable barbarism, is drifting the nation from its onward course of peaceful civilization, back to the old realms of darkness and brute force.

The high and heroic aims of this conflict will doubtless mitigate the evils which necessarily attend an appeal to arms.

when war,

To say

nothing of the physical health and prowess that camp life and military discipline will develop, the love of country and love of liberty will rise again from mere holiday sentiments to the grandeur and power of national passions, and the Union, made doubly precious by the blood which its maintenance will cost, will attain a strength that no mortal force can shake or destroy. History will grow heroic again, and humanity itself will be inspired and glorified with this fresh vindication of its God-given rights and duties, in this new incarnation and triumph of the principles of Constitutional and Republican liberty. The too absorbing love of money, which has hitherto characterized us, has loosened somewhat its clutch, and been won to acts of genuine benevolence, at the sight of an imperiled country; and the fiery demon of party spirit slinks away abashed before the roused patriotism which lays life itself on the altar of liberty.

But with all this, the barbarisms of war are too palpable and terrific to be forgotten or disregarded, and the wise and patriotic statesman will find in them a more urgent reason for fostering those civilizing agencies which nourish the growing intelligence and virtue of the people. Against the ideas and vices engendered in the camps, and amidst the battle-fields, we must raise still higher the bulwarks of virtuous habits and beliefs, in the children yet at home. We need the utmost stretch of home and school influence to save society and the State from the terrible domination of military ideas and military forces, always so dangerous to civil liberty and free government.

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We have assembled together to unite in national mourning, such as has never been witnessed by the present generation. A few days ago every hall was hung with the emblems of victory, and in the assurance of peace, every heart was filled with gratitude and joy. Now all is changed; the temples are decked with mourning; the streets of the city are clothed in the weeds of a widowed nation, and only one sentiment pervades the hearts of all —an uncontrollable grief for the loss of one of “the noblest men that ever lived in the tide of times.' I believe that the people loved Abraham Lincoln, and leaned upon his strong heart as no nation ever leaned upon the heart of any man. He had slowly, but surely, won his way into their confidence and esteem, by his noble singleness of purpose, honesty and truthfulness. On his first accession to power he was distrusted by the majority of the people because he was unknown to them. He was like a nugget of gold newly dug from the mountain, in which the people could only see the dross; but, having passed through the fiery ordeal of four years, the dross had been separated; he had become stamped with the eagles of the republic and of liberty, and from this time his fame was secure. They loved him because he had stood that ordeal, because he was possessed of a true moral dignity, a courage that was braver than boldness, a firmness that was better than self-will. He was not boastful, but true, and had borne his honors so meekly, and conducted himself so nobly, that the nation at length rose up as one man to vindicate their honor and liberty. He encountered great obstacles in purging the whole country of disloyalty; with what moderation and wisdom he labored to combine what was divided in the nation; he had never sought to be a ruler, but a servant of the people. He forgot all political enmities by calling into important offices men who were his opponents, and thus gathering around him the ablest minds of the nation, who might divide with him, not only the responsibility but the credit. In the selection of his cabinet, and in the moderation of his counsels, were to be seen evidences of that wisdom which endeared him forever to all enlightened men. It is for these great qualities -- for his purity, simplicity and patriotism—that the people now mourn for their lamented President with an intelligent mourning, which has an argument for every tear, and a reason for every sigh. Those who thought to end his career and his influence, only succeeded in crowning him with immortal glory, and the people will live long and suffer much before they will see his like again.

LXXXVI,

ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND.

G. W. BOKER-MARCH 8, 1862.

“Stand by your guns, men !” Morris cried.

Small need to pass the word;
Our men at quarters ranged themselves

Before the drum was heard.

And then began the sailors' jests :

6 What thing is that, I say?" - A long-shore meeting-house adrift

Is standing down the bay!"

A frown came over Morris' face;

The strange, dark craft he knew. “ That is the iron Merrimac,

Manned by a rebel crew.

"So shot your guns, and point them straight;

Before this day goes by,
We'll try of what her metal's made."

A cheer was our reply.

“Remember, boys, this flag of ours

Has seldom left its place;
And when it falls, the deck it strikes

Is covered with disgrace.

66 I ask but this: or sink or swim,

Or live or nobly die,
My last sight upon earth may be

To see that ensign fly!”

Meanwhile the shapeless iron mass

Came moving o'er the wave, As gloomy as a passing hearse, As silent as the grave.

.

Her ports were closed ; from stem to stern

No sign of life appeared. We wondered, questioned, strained our eyes,

Joked, - everything but feared.

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