3. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors, never felt before;

แ

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

"'T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber doorSome late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; This it is and nothing more.'

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4. 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.

5. Deep into that darkness *peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, [before; Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream 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.

6. 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 texplore— Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore; 'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

7. 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 tobeisance made he; not a minute stopped or

stayed he,

But, with *mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door— Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber doorPerched, and sat, and nothing more.

8. Then this ebony bird +beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy terest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art

sure no craven,

Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the nightly shore,

[shore!"

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

9. Much 1 marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning-little relevancy bore;
For we can not 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 "Nevermore."

10. 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, "Nevermore."

11. 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 +Dis

aster

Followed fast and followed faster, till his song one burden bore,
Till the *dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never-nevermore.'

12. 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, tghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant, in croaking "Nevermore."

13. 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!

14. Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an un

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

15. "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 imploreIs there, is there balm in Gilead? tell me, tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

16. "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 LenoreClasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore."

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

17. "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!

my

door!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

18. 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 nevermore.

CXLIII.-DARKNESS.

FROM BYRON.

1. I HAD a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
*Rayless and pathless, and the icy earth

Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came, and went, and came, and brought no day
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light.

2. And they did live by watch-fires; and the thrones, The palaces of crownèd kings, the huts,

The thabitations of all things which dwell,

Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gathered round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye

Of the volcanoes and their mountain torch.

3. A fearful hope was all the world contained;
Forests were set on fire; but, hour by hour,
They fell and faded, and the crackling trunks
Extinguished with a crash; and all was black.
The brows of men, by the despairing light,
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down,
And hid their eyes, and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clinchèd hands, and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed

4.

Their funeral piles with +fuel, and looked up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again,
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnashed their teeth, and howled.

The wild birds shrieked.
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came, tame and tremulous; and vipers crawled
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless: they were slain for food;
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again; a meal was bought

With blood, and each sat sullenly apart,
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought-and that was death,
Immediate and tinglorious; and the pang

Of famine fed upon all entrails; men

Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh.

5. The meager by the meager were devoured;
Even dogs assailed their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds, and beasts, and famished men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a *piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick, desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answered not with a caress, he died.

6. The crowd was famished by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,

7.

And they were enemies; they met beside

The dying embers of an altar-place,

Where had been heaped a mass of holy things

For an unholy usage; they raked up,

And, shivering, scraped, with their cold, skeleton hands,

The feeble ashes, and they made a flame

Which was a mockery; then, they lifted up

Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld

Each other's aspects; saw, and shrieked, and died:
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,

Unknowing who he was upon whose brow

Famine had written Fiend.

The world was void;

The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless;
A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still,

And nothing stirred within their silent depths;

Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea,

And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropped,

They slept on the abyss without a *surge.

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave;

The moon, their mistress, had expired before;
The winds were withered in the *stagnant air,
And the clouds perished. Darkness had no need
Of aid from them. She was the universe.