IX.

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

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as "Nevermore."

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 farther 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.”

XI.

66

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 songs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore, Of Never-nevermore,'

XII.

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, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore,

Meant in croaking, “Nevermore."

XIII.

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 re

clining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light

gloated o'er,

E

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

XIV.

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 !"

66

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

XV.

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 im

plore

Is there is there balm in Gilead?-tell me

I implore !"

e-tell me,

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.”

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 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."

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,

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 !

Thomas Aird.

Born 1802.

THE HOLY COTTAGE.

"COME near, my child!" the dying father said. Life's twilight dews lay heavy on his brow.

How softly o'er him did that daughter bow!

She wiped those dews away, she raised his drooping head.

He looked upon her with a long long look,
Thinking of all her winning little ways,

His only gladness from her infant days,

Since God from them away the wife and mother took.