Touched by the spectacle of her strong agony--aroused for the moment to the true realization of all the bitterness and baseness of his unkindness toward her--moved, perhaps, by memories of that time when between them there was pleasant and endearing confidence, and when it was not she who was obliged to plead for love--Sergius drew his arm more closely about her, and, bending over, pressed his lips upon her forehead. If at that moment the opportunity had not failed, who can tell what open and generous confessions might not have been uttered, unrestrained forgiveness sealed, and future miseries prevented? But at the very moment when the words seemed trembling upon his lips, the door softly opened, and Leta entered. THE DOVE. Upon the 'pallid bust of Pallas' sat The Raven from the 'night's Plutonian shore;' His burning glance withered my wasting life, His ceaseless cry still tortured as before: 'Lenore! Lenore! ah! never--nevermore!' The weary moments dragged their crimson sands Slow through the life-blood of my sinking heart. I counted not their flow; I only knew Time and Eternity were of one hue; That immortality were endless pain To one who the long lost could ne'er regain-- There was no hope that Death would Love restore: 'Lenore! Lenore! ah! never--nevermore!' Early one morn I left my sleepless couch, Seeking in change of place a change of pain. I leaned my head against the casement, where The rose she planted wreathed its clustering flowers. How could it bloom when she was in the grave? The birds were carolling on every spray, And every leaf glittered with perfumed dew; Nature was full of joy, but, wretched man! Does God indeed bless only birds and flowers? As thus I stood--the glowing morn without, Within, the Raven with its blighting cry, All light the world, all gloom the hopeless heart-- I prayed in agony, if not in faith; Yet still my saddened heart refused to soar, And even summer winds the burden bore: 'Lenore! Lenore! ah! never--nevermore!' With these wild accents ringing through my heart, There was no hope in prayer! Sadly I rose, Gazing on Nature with an envious eye, When, lo! a snowy Dove, weaving her rings In ever-lessening circles, near me came; With whirring sound of fluttering wings, she passed Into the cursed and stifling, haunted room, Where sat the Raven with his voice of doom-- His ceaseless cry from the Plutonian shore: 'Lenore! Lenore! ah! never--nevermore!' The waving of the whirring, snowy wings, Cooled the hot air, diffusing mystic calm. Again I shuddered as I marked the glare Which shot from the fell Raven's fiendish eye, The while he measured where his pall-like swoop Might seize the Dove as Death had seized Lenore: 'Lenore!' he shrieked, 'ah, never--nevermore!'