To my feet the river glideth

Through the shadow, sullen, dark,
On the stream the white moon rideth
Like a barque,

And the linden leans above me,

Till I think some things there be
In this weary world that love me—
Even me.

Gentle flowers are springing near me,
Shedding sweetest breath around,
Countless voices rise to cheer me
From the ground;

And the lone-bird comes-I hear it
In the tall and windy pine,
Pour the sadness of its spirits
Into mine;

There it swings and sings above me,
Till I think some things there be
In this dreary world that love me—
Even me.

Now the moon hath floated to me,
On the stream I see it sway,
Swinging, boat-like, as 'twould woo me
Far away-

And the stars bend from the azure,

I could reach them where I lie,
And they whisper all the pleasure
Of the sky.

There they hang and smile above me,
Till I think some things there be
In the very heavens that love me-
Even me.

THE RAVEN.

A celebrated poem by EDGAR A. POE, wild and singular as the life of this unfortunate and unhappy author.

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,

door

66

tapping at my chamber

Only this, and nothing more."

Ab! 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 chamberdoor,

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 chamberdoor,

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 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 exploreLet 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 moment 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-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 countenanee 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 further 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
Of 'Never, nevermore.""

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 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 burn'd into my bosom's

core;

This, and more, I sat divining, with my head at ease re

clining

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 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 enchantedOn this home by horror haunted-tell me truly I imploreIs 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."