POE. THE RAVEN. 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 mutter'd, “ 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 wish'd the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost LenoreFor the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore Nameless here for evermore. 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 minute stopp'd or stay'd he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perch'd above my chamber Perch'd upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door door Perch'd 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 sborn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the nightly shoreTell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore !” Quoth the Raven : “ 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! 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 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 in 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 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! WORDSWORTH. THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES. See the kitten how she starts, First at one, and then its fellow, THE STREET MUSICIAN; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC. An Orpheus ! an Orpheus !—he works on the crowd, He sways them with harmony merry and loud ; He fills with his power all their hearts to the brinWas aught ever heard like his fiddle and him ? What an eager assembly! what an empire is this! That errand-bound 'prentice was passing in hasteWhat matter! he's caught, and his time runs to waste The newsman is stopp'd, though he stops on the fret, And the half-breathless lamplighter, he's in the net! The porter sits down on the weight which he bore; That tall man, a giant in bulk and in height, Mark that cripple, but little would tempt him to try To dance to the strain and to fling his crutch by !That mother, whose spirit in fetters is bound, While she dandles the babe in her arms to the sound. Now, coaches and chariots ! roar on like a stream; |