POE. Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, But the Raven nevermore.'" still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore- This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing Then, methought,, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil! tell me truly, I implore?- tell me tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." - prophet still, if bird or devil! "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting - And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; Shall be lifted nevermore! ALEXANDER POPE. Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose, That well-known name awakens all my woes. Oh, name, for ever sad! for ever dear! Still breathed in sighs, still ushered with a tear. I tremble, too, whene'er my own I find; Some dire misfortune follows close behind. Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow, Led through a sad variety of woe: Now warm in love, now withering in my bloom, Lost in a convent's solitary gloom! There stern religion quenched the unwilling flame, There died the best of passions, love and fame. Yet write, oh! write me all, that I may join Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine. Nor foes nor fortune take this power away; And is my Abelard less kind than they? Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare, Love but demands what else were shed in prayer; No happier task these faded eyes pursue; To read and weep is all they now can do. Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief; Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief. Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Some banished lover, or some captive maid; They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires, The virgin's wish without her fears impart, Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart, Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, What if the head, the eye, or ear repined To serve mere engines to the ruling mind? Just as absurd for any part to claim To be another, in this general frame: And waft a sigh from Indus to the Just as absurd, to mourn the tasks SUBMISSION TO SUPREME WIS- Safe in the hand of one disposing DOM. WHAT if the foot, ordained the dust to tread, Or hand, to toil, aspired to be the head? power, Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. All nature is but art, unknown to thee; All chance, direction, which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right. [From An Essay on Man.] CHARITY, GRADUALLY PERVASIVE. God loves from whole to parts; but human soul Must rise from individual to the whole. Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake; The centre moved, a circle straight succeeds, Another still, and still another spreads; Friend, parent, neighbor, first it will embrace; His country next, and next all human “What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl!" I'll tell you, friend! a wise man and a fool. You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk, Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk, Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow; The rest is all but leather or prunello. [From An Essay on Man.] VIRTUE, THE SOLE UNFAILING HAPPINESS. KNOW then this truth (enough for man to know), "Virtue alone is happiness below." The only point where human bliss stands still, And tastes the good without the fall to ill; [ceives, Where only merit constant pay reIs blest in what it takes, and what it gives; The joy unequalled, if its end it gain, And if it lose, attended with no pain: Without satiety, though e'er so blest, And but more relished as the more distressed: The broadest mirth, unfeeling Folly wears, [tears: Less pleasing far than Virtue's very Good, from each object, from each The friar hooded, and the monarch crowned. |