Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other | On this home by horror haunted, I implore, friends have flown before, On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes Is there is there balm in Gilead? — tell me, have flown before." - tell me, I implore!" Quoth the raven, "Nevermore !" Then the bird said, "Nevermore!" Startled at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet spoken, still, if bird or devil! "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only By that heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore, stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master, whom un- Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the merciful disaster distant Aidenn, Followed fast and followed faster, till his song It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the an one burden bore, gels name Lenore, Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy bur- Clasp a fair and radiant maiden, whom the an gels name Lenore!" "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 !" the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing And On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my And his 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 ! chamber door; eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming, And the lamplight 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 ALLAN POE. SONG OF THE SEA BY THE ROYAL GARDEN AT NAPLES. I HAVE swung for ages to and fro; I have striven in vain to reach thy feet, O Garden of joy! whose walls are low, And odors are so sweet. I palpitate with fitful love; I sigh and sing with changing breath; I raise my hands to heaven above, I smite my shores beneath! In vain, in vain! while far and fine, To curb the madness of my sweep, 654 Runs the white limit of a line I may not overleap. Once thou wert sleeping on my breast, Out of the loving sea. And I swing eternal to and fro; ROSSITER W. RAYMOND. SONG OF THE LIGHTNING. "PUCK. I put a girdle round about the earth In forty minutes." MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. AWAY! away! through the sightless air Stretch forth your iron thread! For I would not dim my sandals fair With the dust ye tamely tread ! Ay, rear it up on its million piers, Let it circle the world around, And the journey ye make in a hundred years I'll clear at a single bound! Though I cannot toil, like the groaning slave To ferry you over the boundless wave, Let him sing his giant strength and speed! Would give that monster a flight indeed, No! no! I'm the spirit of light and love! With a glance I cleave the sky in twain; When fall the boding drops of rain Through the darkly curtained air! From the Alps' or the Andes' highest crag, The hieroglyphs on the Persian wall, - At length the hour of light is here, GEORGE W. CUTTER. ORIGIN OF THE OPAL. A DEW-DROP came, with a spark of flame The rose looked down, with a blush and frown; Then the stranger took a stolen look At the sky, so soft and blue; A cold north-wind, as he thus reclined, ANONYMOUS. THE ORIGIN OF GOLD. THE Fallen looked on the world and sneered. "I can guess," he muttered, “why God is feared, For the eyes of mortal are fain to shun He stood on the height when the sun went down, The Fallen watched while the whirlwind fanned SARAH E. CARMICHAEL, of Utah. And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, | This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, In maiden meditation, fancy free. Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it, love-in-idleness. WHERE THE BEE SUCKS. FROM THE TEMPEST." WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I: There I couch when owls do cry. After summer, merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough QUEEN MAB. 66 O THEN I see, Queen Mab hath been with you. love; On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight; O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, Those are pearls that were his eyes: FAIRY SONG. SHED no tear! O, shed no tear! To ease my breast of melodies, THE SPICE-TREE. JOHN KEATS. THE spice-tree lives in the garden green; No greener garden e'er was known Within the bounds of an earthly king; No lovelier skies have ever shone Than those that illumine its constant spring. That coil-bound stem has branches three; The root stands fast in the rocks below. In the spicy shade ne'er seems to tire The fount that builds a silvery dome; And flakes of purple and ruby fire Gush out, and sparkle amid the foam. The fair white bird of flaming crest, And azure wings bedropt with gold, Ne'er has he known a pause of rest, But sings the lament that he framed of old: |