66 IV. Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, V. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; VI. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 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, 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, 66 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, For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being X. But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." XI. Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, Of 'Never, nevermore."" XII. But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore- XIII. This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 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 66 Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! XV. "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!— 66 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, 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, Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then! In these thy lowest works, yet these declare Angels, for ye On earth join all ye creatures to extol Him first, him last, him midst, and without end, If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crownst the smiling Morn |