THE RAVEN.

Melancholy burden bore
Of Never nevermore.''

But the raven still beguiling
All my sad soul into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned 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 lamplight gloated o'er;
But whose velvet violet lining,
With the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press-ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, Perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by angels, whose faint footfalls Tinkled on the tufted floor.

THE RAVEN.

"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, O quaff this kind nepenthe, And forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the raven "Nevermore."

66

Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!
Prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether
Tempest tossed 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 rare and radiant maiden

Whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."

THE RAVEN.

"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 lamplight, 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!

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

THAT which her slender waist confined
Shall now my joyful temples bind;
No monarch but would give his crown,
His arms might do what this hath done.

It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer;

THE MOTHER'S LAST SONG.

My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move.

A narrow compass! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair.
Give me but what this ribbon bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round!

EDMUND WALLER.

SLEEP!

THE MOTHER'S LAST SONG.

The ghostly winds are blowing;

No moon abroad, no star is glowing;
The river is deep, and the tide is flowing
To the land where you and I are going:
We are going afar,

Beyond moon or star,

To the land where the sinless angels are.

I lost my heart to your heartless sire,
('Twas melted away by his looks of fire,)
Forgot my God, and my father's ire,
All for the sake of a man's desire;
But now we'll go

Where the waters flow,

And make us a bed where none shall know.

The world is cruel, the world is untrue;
Our foes are many, our friends are few;