And still his name sounds stirring unto the men of Rome, As the trumpet-blast that cries to them to charge the Volscian home; And wives still pray to Juno for boys with hearts as bold As his who kept the bridge so well in the brave days of old. And in the nights of winter, when the cold north-winds blow, And the long howling of the wolves is heard amidst the snow; When round the lonely cottage roars loud the tempest's din, And the good logs of Algidus roar louder yet within; When the oldest cask is open'd, and the largest lamp is lit; When the chestnuts glow in the embers, and the kid turns on the spit; When young and old in circle around the firebrands close; When the girls are weaving baskets, and the lads are shaping bows; When the goodman mends his armor, and trims his helmet's plume; When the goodwife's shuttle merrily goes flashing through the loom; With weeping and with laughter still is the story told, How well Horatius kept the bridge in the brave days of old. FOOTNOTES: [L] For the sake of space a change has been made from the usual form of the poem. LII. THE RAVEN. EDGAR ALLAN POE.--1809-1849. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I ponder'd, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,-- While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door. "'Tis some visitor," I mutter'd, "tapping at my chamber-door,-- Only this, and nothing more." Ah! distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wish'd the morrow: vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow,--sorrow for the lost Lenore; For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore, Nameless here forevermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrill'd me--fill'd me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door,-- Some late visitor, entreating entrance at my chamber-door; This it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door, That I scarce was sure I heard you";--here I open'd wide the door;-- Darkness there, and nothing more.