That motley drama-oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!

With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,

Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,

And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout

A crawling shape intrude!

A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!

It writhes!—it writhes !-with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the angels sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbrued.

Out-out are the lights-out all!

And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall,

Comes down with the rush of a storm, And the angels, all pallid and wan,

Uprising, unveiling, affirm

That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"

And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

ANNABEL LEE.

T was many and many a year ago,

IT

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of ANNABEL LEE.

And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child

In this kingdom by the sea :

But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my ANNABEL LEE,

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel LEE,
So that her high-born kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-

Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud one night, Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we

Of many far wiser than we

And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE:

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling-my darling-my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea.

I

ΤΟ

HEED not that my earthly lot

Hath little of Earth in it

That years of love have been forgot

In the hatred of a minute-
I mourn not that the desolate
Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that you sorrow for my fate
Who am a passer by.

THE VALLEY OF UNREST.

O

NCE it smiled a silent dell

Where the people did not dwell; They had gone unto the wars, Trusting to the mild-eyed stars, Nightly, from their azure towers, To keep watch above the flowers, In the midst of which all day The red sunlight lazily lay. Now each visitor shall confess The sad valley's restlessness. Nothing there is motionless

Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.

Ah, by no winds are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!

Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,

Over the violets there that lie

In myriad types of the human eye—
Over the lilies there that wave

And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave-from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep-from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.

ISRAFEL.*

N Heaven a spirit doth dwell

"Whose heart-strings are a lute;"

None sing so wildly well

As the angel Israfel,

* "And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures."KORAN.