And the Raven still is squatting, my æsthetic paper blotting,
On the plaster bust of Dizzy, just above my chamber-door,
With his wall-eyes dully gleaming ’neath the nightmare of his dreaming,
And the gaslight o’er him streaming, casts his shadow on the floor;
But my soul in that black shadow that lies heavy on the floor,
Shall be shrouded—Nevermore!
Punch, January 10, 1880.
The Gold Digger.
Once upon an evening dreary, a gold-digger, tired and weary,