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

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 or 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.

RETCHES! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,

And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her that 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 débonnaire, that now so lowly lies,

The life upon her yellow hair, but not within her eyes—
The 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 damnèd Earth. To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven

A VALENTINE.

OR 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 Ferdinando

Still 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 connexion 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.]