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 blessed with seeing
Bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured
Bust above his chamber door,
With such a 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 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 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 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 yoreWhat 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 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?

"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 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 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!

THE BELLS.

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE.

H

I.

EAR the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells!

What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle

With a crystalline delight;

Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the tintinabulation that so musically wells

From the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells

From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II.

Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night

How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune,