my

books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the lost Lenore

r the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore

Nameless here forevermore.

d the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

rilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

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

Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door,

me late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door;

That it is, and nothing more."

esently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer,

Sir," said I," or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

it the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

d so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door,

hat I scarce was sure I heard you"-here I opened wide the door:

Darkness there, and nothing more.

eep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,

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!"

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 !'"

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 !"

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 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 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, "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 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!"

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.

Edgar A. Poe.

MONEY MUSK.

Ан, the buxom girls that helped the boys-
The nobler Helens of humbler Troys-

As they stripped the husks with rustling fold,
From eight-rowed corn as yellow as gold,

By the candle-light in pumpkin bowls,
And the gleams that showed fantastic holes.
In the quaint old lantern's tatooed tin,
From the hermit glim set up within;

By the rarer light in girlish eyes
As dark as wells, or as blue as skies.
I hear the laugh when the ear is red,
I see the blush with the forfeit paid,

The cedar cakes with the ancient twist,
The cider cup that the girls have kissed.
And I see the fiddler through the dusk
As he twangs the ghost of "Money Musk!"

1 Exercise on stress, median and thorough.