But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into On this home by horror haunted-tell me truly, I smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of Is there

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

implore

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!

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and omi- By that heaven that bends above us-by that God nous bird of yore

Meant in croaking, "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

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

To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels 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, never more!

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!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed Leave my loneliness unbroken!-quit the bust

"Prophet!” said I," thing of evil!-prophet still, And the lamplight, o'er him streaming, throws his if bird or devil! shadow on the floor;

Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed And my soul from out that shadow that lies floatthee here ashoreing on the floor Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land en

chanted,

EDGAR ALLAN POE.