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IV.

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
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.

V.

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

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness 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.

VI.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something 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;

'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

VII.

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 mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber doorPerched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

VIII.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

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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."

IX.

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 name as "Nevermore."

X.

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."

XI.

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,

Of 'Never, nevermore.""

XII.

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."

XIII.

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!

XIV.

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

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Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

XV.

"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?-tell me, tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

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XVI.

Prophet!" said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil! By that heaven that bends above us-by that God we both adoreTell 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.”

XVII.

"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."

XVIII.

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

And

floor;

my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted-nevermore!*

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

There is a curious little paper on the genesis of this poem, by Poe, in one of his essays, "The Philosophy of Composition;" Works, vol. ii. p. 259. had greater success in America.

No single poem ever

Morning Hymn.

THESE are Thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty, Thine this universal frame,

Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable, who sitst above these heavens
To us invisible or dimly seen

In these thy lowest works, yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power Divine:
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle His throne rejoicing, ye in Heaven,

Angels, for

ye

On earth join all ye creatures to extol

Him first, him last, him midst, and without end,
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,

If better thou belong not to the dawn,

Sure pledge of day, that crownst the smiling Morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge Him thy greater, sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climbst,
And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fallst;
Moon that now meetst the orient sun, now fliest
With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies,
And ye five other wandering fires that move
In mystic dance not without song, resound
His praise, who out of darkness called up light.