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 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 I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before. Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window 66 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 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 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, “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 marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, door Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such a 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 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 songs one burden bore Till the dirges of his hope the melancholy burden bore 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, ghostly, 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 un seen censer, Swung by angels whose faint footfalls tinkled on the tufted 66 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, O 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, 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 Le nore 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 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. Ex. CXXXIX.-PHAETHON. JOHN G. SAXE. DAN PHAETHON-SO the histories run- Now old Father Phoebus, ere railways begun Drove a very fast coach by the name of "The Sun ;" (On Sundays and all, in a heathenish way,) Of lanterns that shone with a brilliant display, Now Phaethon begged of his doting old father, To darken the brow of the son of the Sun! I swear I will grant you whate'er you desire !" The youngster said, "I'il mount the coach when the horses are fed!-For there's nothing I'd choose, as I'm alive, Like a seat on the box, and a dashing drive!” "Nay, Phaethon, do n't I beg you wont Just stop a moment, and think upon 't! Your first appearance on any stage! The cattle are wild, 6 And when their mettle is thorougly 'riled,' You'll rue the day So mind, and don't be foolish, Pha!" 'Twas just the thing to astonish the crowd- In vain the boy was cautioned at large, He called for the chargers, unheeding the charge, He had given his word in such a hurry, He gave the youth a bit of advice: "Parce stimulis, utere loris !' (As the judge remarked to a rowdy Scotchman, |