Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest toss'd 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 implore!"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!" "Prophet!" said I, “thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that heaven that bends above us-by that God 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;

Clasp 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, to 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!" And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

O. 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

Shall be lifted-NEVERMORE!

AN ORIGINAL LOVE STORY.

He struggled to kiss her, she struggled the same
To prevent him, so bold and undaunted;

But as smitten by lightning, he heard her exclaim: "Avaunt, sir!" And off he avaunted.

But when he returned, with a wild, fiendish laugh,
Showing clearly that he was affronted,

And threatened by main force to carry her off,

She cried: "Don't!" And the poor fellow donted

When he meekly approached, and got down at her fee.
Praying loud, as before he had ranted,

That she would forgive him, and try to be sweet,
And said, "Can't you?"-the dear girl recanted.

Then softly he whispered: "How could you do so?
I certainly thought I was jilted;

But come thou with me, to the parson we'll go,
Say, wilt thou, my dear?" And she wilted.

Then gayly he took her to see her new home,-
A cabin by no means enchanted.

"See! Here we can live with no longing to roam,"

*He said: "Shan't we, my dear?" So they shantied

HEART'S EASE.

Of all the bonny buds that blow
In bright or cloudy weather,
Of all the flowers that come and go
The whole twelve months together,
This little, purple pansy brings
Thoughts of the sweetest, saddest things!

I had a little lover once

Who used to give me posies,

His eyes were blue as hyacinths,
His cheeks were red as roses,
And everybody loved to praise
His pretty looks and winsome ways.

The girls, who went to school with me,
Made little jealous speeches,

Because he brought me loyally

His biggest plums and peaches;

And always at the door would wait
To-to carry home my books and slate!

They "couldn't see,"—with pout and fling,—

"The mighty fascination

About that little snub-nosed thing,

To win such admiration!

As if there weren't a dozen girls

With brighter eyes and longer curls!"

And this I knew, as well as they,

And never could see clearly,
Why, more than Marion or May,
I should be loved so dearly;

And once I asked him, "Why was this?"
He answered only with a kiss!

But, when I teased him, "Tell me why, I want to know the reason!"

Then, from the garden-bed near by,—

The pansies were in season—,
He plucked and gave a flower to me
With sweet and simple gravity.

"The garden is in bloom," he said-,
"With lilies pale and slender,
With phlox and with verbenas red,
And fuchsia's purple splendor;

But over and above the rest

This little heart's-ease suits me best!"

"Am I your little heart's-ease, then ?"
I asked with blushing pleasure.
He answered, "Yes! and yes again!

Heart's-ease and dearest treasure,
That the round world and all the sea
Held nothing half so dear as me!"

I listened with a proud delight,
Too rare for words to capture,
And never dreamed what sudden blight
Would come to still my rapture,-

Could I foresee the tender bloom

Of pansies 'round a little tomb!

Life holds some stern experience,
As most of us discover,

And I've had other losses since

I lost my little lover;

But still this purple pansy brings

Thoughts of the sweetest, saddest things!

BARBERY FRICKEY.

GERMAN VERSION.

Dwas early von morning,
Ven daytimes proke oud,
Dot all dose dings happen
Vot I dold youse aboud.
All around der blaces

Der peen a big crop―
Botatoes und such dings

Vos looking dip-dop.

I dink dose rebels like to have some off dose rations, Because dhey vas almost dead mid starvations.

Dhey vere hurrying along

. Shoost as fast as dhey could; Some valking on horseback, Some riding of foot.

Vile ub der streed

Came der rebel tread,

Mid Stony-vall Jack

Marching righd straighd on along ahead.

As he looked from under

Dot old slouch hadt,

He bud up his handt,

Und looked shoosd like dot.

Barbara Frickey, shoost den,

Vas looking der vindow drough;

Und says she, "Now, Stony-vall Jack,

You shoost look better a leedle oud vot you do."

"Halt!" Der dust-brown ranks

Putty quick stood fast.

"Fire!" Oh, my! You should have seen

How oud-plazed dot rifle blast!