In the silence of the night

How we shiver with affright

At the melancholy menace of their tone i
For every sound that floats

From the rust within their throats,
Is a groan:

And the people—ah, the people—
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,

And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,

Feel a glory in so rolling

On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman→→
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls!

And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls,
A pæan from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells

With the pean of the bells
And he dances and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pean of the bells-
Of the bells;

Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the throbbing of the bells-◄

Of the bells, bells, bells,

To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,

As he knells, knells, knells,

In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells—

To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

EDGAR A. POE.

279

The Raven.

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, 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.

"T is 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 wished 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,

Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic terrors

before;

never felt

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood re

peating,

"T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber

door,

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;

This it is, and nothing more."

16

Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer,
66
Sir," said I, or Madam, truly vour forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rap-

ping,

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 darkness 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 again I heard 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 ;— 'T is the wind, and nothing more!"

Open then 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;

THE RAVEN.

281

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber

door,Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,— Perched, 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,

66

"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 !"

Much I marveled 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 blessed with seeing bird above his chamber

door

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as 66 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 further 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 flowr 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 dis

aster

Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden

bore,

Till the dirges of his hope one 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 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 foot-falls 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 the memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore !"