And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you."-Here I opened 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 whispered word, "Lenore!"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again a tapping, somewhat 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 stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he,

But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my

door

chamber

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber-doorPerched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebon 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 marvelled 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 blest with seeing bird above his chamber-doorBird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamberdoor,

With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered— Till I scarcely more than muttered, "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 Followed fast and followed faster till his song one burden bore

Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden boreOf 'Never'-of 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 seraphim whose faint 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 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 im-
plore !"

"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 Aiden,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Le-
nore."

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's 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!

A WOMAN'S ANSWER ON BEING ACCUSED OF BEING A MANIAC ON THE SUBJECT OF TEMPERANCE.

Go, feel what I have felt;

Go, bear what I have borne-
Sink 'neath a blow a father dealt,

And the cold world's proud scorn
Then suffer on from year to year—
Thy sole relief the scorching tear.

Go, kneel as I have knelt;

Implore, beseech, and pray—
Strive the besotted heart to melt,
The downward course to stay;
Be dashed, with bitter curse, aside;
Your

prayers burlesqued, your tears defied.

Go, weep as I have wept,

O'er a loved father's fall

See every promised blessing swept,
Youth's sweetness turned to gall;
Life's fading flowers strewed all the way,
That brought me up to woman's day.

Go, see what I have seen,

Behold the strong man bow,

With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood,
And cold and livid brow;

Go catch his withering glance, and see
There mirrored his soul's misery.

Go to thy mother's side,

And her crushed bosom cheer;

Thy own deep anguish hide;

Wipe from her cheek the bitter tear;
Mark her worn frame and withered brow,
The gray that streaks her dark hair now;
With fading frame and trembling limb,
And trace the ruin back to him
Whose plighted faith, in early youth,
Promised eternal love and truth;

But who, forsworn, hath yielded up
That promise to the cursed cup,

And led her down through love and light,
And all that made her promise bright,

And chained her there, 'mid want and strife,
That lowly thing-a drunkard's wife!