althoughthepurplewineremindedusofblood。FortherewasyetanothertenantofourchamberinthepersonofyoungZoilus。Dead，andatfulllengthhelay，enshrouded；thegeniusandthedemonofthescene。Alas！heborenoportioninourmirth，savethathiscountenance，distortedwiththeplague，andhiseyes，inwhichDeathhadbuthalfextinguishedthefireofthepestilence，seemedtotakesuchinterestinourmerrimentasthedeadmayhaplytakeinthemerrimentofthosewhoaretodie。ButalthoughI，Oinos，feltthattheeyesofthedepartedwereuponme，stillIforcedmyselfnottoperceivethebitternessoftheirexpression，andgazingdownsteadilyintothedepthsoftheebonymirror，sangwithaloudandsonorousvoicethesongsofthesonofTeios。Butgraduallymysongstheyceased，andtheirechoes，rollingafaroffamongthesabledraperiesofthechamber，becameweak，andundistinguishable，andsofadedaway。Andlo！fromamongthosesabledraperieswherethesoundsofthesongdeparted，therecameforthadarkandundefinedshadowashadowsuchasthemoon，whenlowinheaven，mightfashionfromthefigureofaman：butitwastheshadowneitherofmannorofGod，norofanyfamiliarthing。Andquiveringawhileamongthedraperiesoftheroom，itatlengthrestedinfullviewuponthesurfaceofthedoorofbrass。Buttheshadowwasvague，andformless，andindefinite，andwastheshadowneitherofmannorofGodneitherGodofGreece，norGodofChaldaea，noranyEgyptianGod。Andtheshadowresteduponthebrazendoorway，andunderthearchoftheentablatureofthedoor，andmovednot，norspokeanyword，buttherebecamestationaryandremained。Andthedoorwhereupontheshadowrestedwas，ifIrememberaright，overagainstthefeetoftheyoungZoilusenshrouded。Butwe，theseventhereassembled，havingseentheshadowasitcameoutfromamongthedraperies，darednotsteadilybeholdit，butcastdownoureyes，andgazedcontinuallyintothedepthsofthemirrorofebony。AndatlengthI，Oinos，speakingsomelowwords，demandedoftheshadowitsdwellinganditsappellation。

　　Andtheshadowanswered，“IamSHADOW，andmydwellingisneartotheCatacombsofPtolemais，andhardbythosedimplainsofHelusionwhichborderuponthefoulCharoniancanal。”Andthendidwe，theseven，startfromourseatsinhorror，andstandtrembling，andshuddering，andaghast，forthetonesinthevoiceoftheshadowwerenotthetonesofanyonebeing，butofamultitudeofbeings，and，varyingintheircadencesfromsyllabletosyllablefelldusklyuponourearsinthewell-rememberedandfamiliaraccentsofmanythousanddepartedfriends。

　　EndofTheWorksofEdgarAllanPoeV。4

　　TheWorksofEdgarAllanPoeVolume5oftheRavenEditionINFIVEVOLUMES

　　ContentsPhilosophyofFurnitureATaleofJerusalemTheSphinxHopFrogTheManoftheCrowdNeverBettheDevillYourHeadThouArttheManWhytheLittleFrenchmanWearshisHandinaSlingBon-BonSomewordswithaMummyThePoeticPrincipleOldEnglishPoetryPOEMS

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