And left it for a prison. 'Twas in June,
One of June's brightest days—the bee, the bird,
The butterfly were on their lightest wings :
The fruits had their first tinge of summer light.
The sunny sky, the very leaves seemed glad,
And the old man looked back upon his cottage,
And wept aloud;—they hurried him away,
And the dear child that would not leave his side.
They led him from the sight of the blue heaven
And the green trees, into a low dark cell,
The windows shutting out the blessed sun
With iron grating; and for the first time
He threw him on his bed, and could not hear
His Isabel's "good night." But the next morn
She was the earliest at the prison gate,

The last on whom it closed and her sweet voice,
And sweeter smile, made him forget to pine.
She brought every morning fresh wild flowers;
But every morning could he mark her cheek
Grow paler and more pale, and her low tones
Get fainter and more faint, and a cold dew
Was on the hand he held. One day he saw
The sun shine through the grating of his cell,
Yet Isabel came not; at every sound
His heart-beat took away his breath, yet still
She came not near him. But one sad day
He mark'd the dull street, through the iron bars,
That shut him from the world; at length he saw
A coffin carried carelessly along

And he grew desperate; he forced the bars,

And he stood on the street free and alone.
He had no aim-no wish for liberty;

He only felt one want-to see the corse
That had no mourners. When they set it down,
Ere 'twas lower'd into the new dug grave,
A rush of passion came upon his soul;
He tore off the lid, and saw the face
Of Isabel, and knew he had no child!
He lay down by the coffin, quietly-
His heart was broken.

THE RAVEN.

MISS LANDON.

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

66

of some one gently rapping-rapping at my chamber door.

'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;

Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the black

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

› Thrill'd me

-fill'd me with fantastic terrors never felt

before;

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

But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you

came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping-tapping at m n

chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you:

wide the door :

here I open

Darkness there, and nothing mor

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood the wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dar to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness ga no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whisper word "Lenore ? "

This I whisper'd, and an echo murmur'd back + word "Lenore!"

Merely this, and nothing mo

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul with me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping something louder th

⚫ before.

Surely," said I, "surely that is something at

window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this myste

explore-

Let my heart be still a moment, and this myste

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 a minute stopped or stayed he;

But with mein 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 the crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,

it 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 marvell'd 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