And pangless.

And death came soon and swift,

The huge pile sunk down at once

Into the opening earth. Walls—arches—roof—
And deep foundation stones-all mingling, fell!

Atherstone.

THE RAVEN.

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, 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 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 bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor;

Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly 1 had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the lost Lenore

For the rare andˇradiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me

before;

-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt

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

""Tis 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 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.

Back into my 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 exploreLet 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 a minute stopped or

stayed he;

But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door

Perched above 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 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, "Never more."

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

With such name as

"Never more."

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 further 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, "Never more.

Startled by 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

Of "Never, never more."

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 into fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yoreWhat this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking "Never more."

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, never more!

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 my memories of

Lenore!

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Never more!"

"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 truly, I implore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Never more."

66 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 Aiden

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, "Never more."

"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, "Never more."

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 floor;

And my soul from out that shadow, that lies floating on the floor,

Shall be lifted-never more!

Edgar Allan Poe.

PATENT BROWN STOUT.

A BREWER in a country town,
Had got a monstrous reputation;
No other beer but his went down;
The hosts of the surrounding station
Carving his name upon their mugs,
And painting it on every shutter;

And though some envious folks would utter
Hints that its flavour came from drugs,.
Others maintained 'twas no such matter;

But owing to his monstrous vat,

At least as corpulent as that

At Heildeberg and some said fatter.