Ann S. Stephens.

DROPPING LEAVES.

THE

THE leaves are dropping, dropping,
And I watch them as they go;

Now whirling, floating, stopping,
With a look of noiseless woe.
Yes, I watch them in their falling,
As they tremble from the stem,
With a stillness so appalling-

And my heart goes down with them!

Yes, I see them floating round me

Mid the beating of the rain,

Like the hopes that still have bound me
To the fading past again.

They are floating through the stillness.
They are given to the storm-
And they tremble off like phantoms
Of a joy that has no form.

But the proud tree stands up prouder,
While its branches cast their leaves-
And the cold wind whispers louder,
Like a sobbing breath that grieves;

A heart that's long in breaking,
As a single flower may cling,
All withered, shorn, and quaking,
On the naked stalk till spring.

Then I thought-" That tree is human
And its boughs are human too;

For while the leaves were wealthy
With kindling sap and dew-
While the sun shot golden lances
Through all its billowy green,
And the birds poured love and music
Where the slanting rays had been-

"Then is great roots gathered fragrance,
Like wine-drops from the ground,
Till it sparkled through the foliage,
As faith fills the profound
Of souls that live together
In kindred trust and love,
Till their union seems immortal
As the burning stars above.

"But the very dews of summer
Had left their own decay;
And Change, a ruthless vampire,
That steals the soul away,

Came with the mellow autumn,

And touched those leaves with blight; Then the frost came stealing earthward, Like a ghost upon the night.

"When the frost had done its death-work,

When the golden leaves were sear, And the brown crept dimly on them In the old age of the year,— Ah! the roots withdrew their nurture, While the tree stood firm and high; When the leaves had lost their groenness, Le, it cast them off to die!"

Then I thought, "Those leaves were weary,

And thrilled with human pain,

As they fell so cold and dreary

Beneath the beating rain.

While the boughs waved slow and grimly

And snook them all away--
Those leaves that fell so dimly,
Like shadows on the day!"

Then my soul went sadly after,
As they quivered from my sight,
And it followed faster, faster,

As my hopes had taken flight.
So I watched the pale leaves flutter,
Flutter downward from the stem;
And I said, "The cold earth under
Is enough for me and them."

Edgar Allan Poe.

THE RAVEN.

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak

and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten loreWhile I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a

tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber

door.

"Tis some visitor," I muttered, "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 wished 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 for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt

Thrilled me

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 opened wide

the door;

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no

token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "LENORE!"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "LENORE!".

Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, ail my soul within me

burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is-and this mysterv explore,

heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of

yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or

stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber

dour

Perched upon a bust of PALLAS, just above my chamber

door

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.