And lighten'd up his faded eye In varying cadence, soft or strong, Scolt. TIT FOR TAT. A LAW there is of ancient fame, But if an English term be wanted, Give your next neighbor but a pat, He'll give you back as good, and tell you―tit for tat. This tit for tat, it seems, not men alone, A mighty Elephant that swell'd the state One day was taken by his driver By some acquaintance in the throng, A cocoa-nut's a pretty fruit enough, Fuming and fretting, To find out its inside, And pick the kernel for his eating. At length, quite out of patience grown, But stay, I've here a solid bone, He bang'd it on the forehead of his beast. An Elephant, they say, has human feeling, The diff'rence between words and blows, But insults unprovoked he can't digest, "To make my head an anvil," thought the creature, "Was never, certainly, the will of nature; So, master, mine, you may repent.' Then, shaking his broad ears, away he went. And thought no more about the matter; A week or two elapsed: one market day Till to a gard'ner's stall they came at last, My friend above will like to learn, Though at the cost of a head-aching." Then in his curling trunk he took a heap, And waved it o'er his neck with sudden sweep, He laid a blow so hard and full, That crack'd the nuts at once, But with them crack'd his skull. Young folks, whene'er you feel inclined Nor give an Elephant a cuff DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. THE glories of our birth and state, Must humble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, The garland withers on your brow, See where the victor victim bleeds; To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust. Herbert. THE RAVEN. ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I ponder'd, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore- 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- And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, door ; Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whisper'd word, "Lenore!" This I whisper'd, and an echo murmur'd back the word, "Lenore!" Merely this, and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping something 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- In there stepp'd a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perch'd above my chamber door Perch'd upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber doorPerch'd 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, grin, and ancient Raven, wandering from the nightly shore Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore!" Much I marvell'd this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, وو But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he utter'd; not a feather then he flutter'd Till I scarcely more than mutter'd, "Other friends have flown before On the morrow he will leave us, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, "Never more.' دو Startled by the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheel'd a cushion'd seat in front of bird and bust and door Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking yore Meant in croaking "Never more." Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing |