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!"

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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 tell me, I implore!"

Quoth the Raven "Never more."

"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, "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, stil 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?

LENORE.

Ан, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown for ever! Let the bell toll!-a saintly soul floats on the Stygian

river;

And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?-weep now of never more!

See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore Come! let the burial rite be read—the funeral song be sung!

An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young

A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young

"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth, and hated her for her pride,

And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed herthat she died!

How shall the ritual, then, be read?—the requiem how

be sung

By you-by yours, the evil eye-by yours, the slanderous tongue

That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?"

Peccavimus! but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong! The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew beside,

Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride

For her, the fair and debonnair, that now so lowly lies, The life upon her yellow hair, but not within her eyesThe life still there upon her hair-the death upon her

eyes.

"Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise,

But waft the angel on her flight with a pæan of old days!

Let no bell toll!-lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth,

Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damned earth.

To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven

From hell unto a high estate far up within the heavenFrom grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven."

HYMN.

Ar morn―at noon-at twilight dim—
Maria! thou hast heard my hymn!
In joy and woe-in good and ill-
Mother of God, be with me still!
When the Hours flew brightly by,
And not a cloud obscured the sky,
My soul, lest it should truant be,
Thy grace did guide to thine and thee;
Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast
Darkly my Present and my Past,
Let my Future radiant shine
With sweet hopes of thee and thine!

A VALENTINE.

FOR her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Loda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines!-they hold a treasure
Divine-a talisman-an amulet

That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-
The words the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labour!
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing

Of poets, by poets-as the name is a poet's, too.

Its letters, although naturally lying

Like the knight Pinto-Mendez FerdinandoStill form a synonym for Truth.-Cease trying! You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.

(To translate the address, read the first letter of the first line in connection with the second letter of the second line, the third letter of the third line, the fourth of the fourth, and so on to the end. The name will thus appear.)

THE COLISEUM.

TYPE of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary
Of lofty contemplation left to Time
By buried centuries of pomp and power!
At length-at length-after so many days
Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst,
(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,)
Ì kneel, an altered and an humble man,
Amid thy shadows, and so drink within
My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory!

Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld!
Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night!
I feel ye now-I feel ye in your strength-
O spells more sure than e'er Judæan king
Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane !
O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee
Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!

D