"Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote,

Like one that hath been seven days drown'd
My body lay afloat;

But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot's boat.

"Upon the whirl, where sunk the ship,
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.

"I moved my lips-the Pilot shriek'd
And fell down in a fit;

The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And pray'd where he did sit.

"I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go,
Laugh'd loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro.

'Ha, ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see
The devil knows how to row.'

"And now, all in my own countree,
I stood on the firm land!

The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.

666

O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!'
The Hermit cross'd his brow.

'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say-
What manner of man art thou?'

"Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd

With a woful agony,

Which forced me to begin my tale ;

And then it left me free.

"Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns:

And till my ghastly tale is told,

This heart within me burns.

"I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me :
To him my tale I teach.

"What loud uproar bursts from that door!"
"The wedding-guests are there:
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing are:
And hark! the little vesper bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer!"

"O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide wide sea:
So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

"O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company!-

"To walk together to the kirk,
And all together pray,

While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friend,
And youths and maidens gay!

"Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest:
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

"He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God that loveth us,
He made and loveth all."

The Mariner whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone and now the Wedding-Guest
Turns from the bridegroom's door.

He went like one that hath been stunn'd,
And is of sense forlorn :

A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.

COLERIDGE.

The Raben.

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I ponder'd, 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.
"'Tis 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 wish'd 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 name Lenore→→
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrill'd me-fill'd me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis 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 open'd wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that 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 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-
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;—
'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepp'd a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopp'd or stay'd 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-door-

Perch'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, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvell'd 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 bless'd with seeing bird above his chamber-door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber-door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did out pour.
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 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 follow'd faster, till his songs one burden bore→
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore,

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

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of
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 burn'd 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 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 footfalls 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 rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore ?"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend !" I shriek'd 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's 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!

POE.

The Happy Valley.

It was a valley fill'd with sweetest sounds,
A languid music haunted everywhere,—
Like that with which a summer-eve abounds,
From rustling corn, and song-birds calling clear,
Down sloping uplands, which some wood surrounds,
With tinkling rills just heard, but not too near;
And low of cattle on the distant plain,

And peal of far-off bells, now caught, then lost again.

It seem'd like Eden's angel-peopled vale,

So bright the sky, so soft the streams did flow; Such tones came riding on the musk-wing'd gale, The very air seem'd sleepily to blow;

And choicest flowers enamell'd every dale,

Flush'd with the richest sunlight's rosy glow: It was a valley drowsy with delight,

Such fragrance floated round, such beauty dimm'd the sight.

The golden-belted bees humm'd in the air,

The tall silk grasses bent and waved along; The trees slept in the steeping sunbeam's glare, The dreamy river chimed its undersong,