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 there 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 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-doorPerch'd upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-doorPerched and sat, and nothing more.

Then, this ebon 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 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
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber-door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber-door,
With such name as 66 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 outpour.
Nothing further then he utter'd-not a feather then he flutter'd-
Till I scarcely more than mutter'd, "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 Follow'd fast and follow'd faster, till his songs one burden bore — Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore,

Of-Never-nevermore!"

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheel'd a cushion'd 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!"

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burn'd 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 lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press-ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen

censer

Swung by seraphim, whose 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, 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!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest toss'd 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!"

"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 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!"

"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 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's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight 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!

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.

NE more unfortunate,

O Weary of breath,

Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care-
Fashion'd so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Look at her garments,
Clinging like cerements,

Whilst the wave constantly

Drips from her clothing;

Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.

Touch her not scornfully,
Think of her mournfully,
Gently, and humanly;
Not of the stains of her,
All that remains of her
Now, is pure womanly.

Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny

Rash and undutiful;

Past all dishonor,

Death has left on her

Only the beautiful.

Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve's family-
Wipe those poor lips of hers,
Oozing so clammily;

Loop up her tresses

Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home?

Who was her father?

Who was her mother?

Had she a sister?

Had she a brother?

Or was there a dearer one

Still, and a nearer one

Yet, than all other?

Alas for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!
Oh, it was pitiful!

Near a whole city full,

Home she had none.

Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly

Feelings were changed;
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence,
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.

Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement,
Houseless by night.

The bleak winds of March

Made her tremble and shiver;

But not the dark arch,

Or the black flowing river:
Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery
Swift to be hurl'd-
Anywhere, anywhere
Out of the world!

In she plunged boldly,
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran:
Over the brink of it,
Picture it-think of it,
Dissolute man!

Lave in it, drink of it
Then, if you can!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care-
Fashion'd so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
Ere her limbs frigidly
Stiffen so rigidly,