him positions with
various periodicals in Richmond, New York, and Philadelphia, and during
this time he wrote some of his finest prose. The appearance of "The Raven"
in 1845, however, at once made Poe a literary lion. He was quite
successful for a time, but then fell back into his dissipated habits which
finally caused his death. In his personal appearance, Poe was neat and
gentlemanly; his face was expressive of intellect and sensibility; and his
mental powers in some directions were of a high order. His writings show
care, and a great degree of skill in their construction; but their effect
is generally morbid.
###

Once upon a midnight dreary,
While I pondered, 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 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
Thrilled me,--filled 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 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
Murmure