As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door. "Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamberdoor

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 wished the morrow:-vainly I had tried 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 forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me -filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating ""T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door ; This it is, and nothing more."

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.

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.

Then into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before;

66

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!"

-

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

Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above

chamber-door

my 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,

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 chamberdoor,

With such name as "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 out

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 song one burden bore

Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore
Of Nevermore'. - of Nevermore.' 999

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."

Thus, 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 un

seen censer,

Swung by angels whose faint 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, O, quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Le

"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!"

66

-

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

Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aiden,

Le

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name

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 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!

LESSON CLXXIII.

The Ass and the Nightingale. — KRILOV.

[From Bowring's Russian Anthology.]

AN ǎss a nightingale espied,...

And shouted out, "Holla! holla! good friend!
Thou art a first-rate singer, they pretend:

Now let me hear thee, that I may

decide e;