life and the warring elements of his own nature tinged it with a gloom and melancholy that colors all he wrote.

He loved all shadowy spots, all seasons drear;
All ways of darkness lured his ghastly whim.
Strange fellowships he held with goblins grim,
At whose demoniac eyes he felt no fear.

This haunting sadness was upon him even in youth. A college friend says: "He wore a melancholy face always, and even his smile - for I do not ever remember to have seen him laugh seemed to be forced. When

he engaged sometimes with others in athletic exercises, in which, especially high or long jumping, I believe he excelled all the rest, Poe, with the same ever sad face, appeared to participate in what was amusement to the others, more as a task than sport.”

With this brooding spirit he had a keen sense of beauty, particularly for the beauty of language, and his gloomiest fantasies are clothed in words of pure music. The same characteristics are found in his stories, with an artful ingenuity of plot, that make his short tales masterpieces of their kind. He has been well called "The poet of a single mood."

THE RAVEN

NOTE

When this poem was first published in the New York Evening Mirror, it was prefaced by the following words, probably written by the poet, N. P. Willis: We are permitted to copy (in advance of publication) from the second number of the American Review, the following remarkable poem by Edgar Poe. In our opinion, it is the most effective single example of 'fugitive poetry' ever published in this country, and unsurpassed in English poetry for subtle conception, masterly ingenuity of versification, and consistent sustaining of imaginative life and 'pokerishness.' It is one of those 'dainties bred in a book' which we feed on. It will stick to the memory of everybody who reads it."

5

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore -
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping rapping at my chamber door.
""Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow 10 From my books surcease of sorrow sorrow for the lost Lenore For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore— Nameless here for ever more.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 15 So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating ""Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 20 "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping-tapping at my chamber door,

25 Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

30

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again a tapping, somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore 35 Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore; 'Tis the wind and nothing more.”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed

he;

40 But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door – Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 45 "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure

no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly

shore

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 50 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."

55 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 further then he uttered not a feather then he fluttered
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown

60

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 65 Till the dirges of his Hope the 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 70 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; 75 This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer,

So 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 nepenthé from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthé, and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

85" Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or

90

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 im-

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil:- prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us -by that God we both

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore 95Clasp 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! 100Leave 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; 105And 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!