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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, all my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before. “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window

lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore Let my 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 an instant stopped or

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

door, Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door, —

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “ art sure

no craven, Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the Nightly

shore Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore !”

Quoth the Raven, “ Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore ;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door-

With such a name as “ Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “ Other friends have flown

before On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

Then the bird said, “ Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“ Doubtless,” said I, “ what it utters is its only stock and storo,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast, and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore.
Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore

Of Nevermore' - Nevermore.'”

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust,

and door ; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of

yoreWhat this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking, “ Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core ;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore !

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen

censer, Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. • Wretch," I cried, “thy God hath lent thee — by these angels

he hath sent thee Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore !”

Quoth the Raven, “ Nevermore.”

Prophet,” said I, “thing of evil ! - prophet still, if bird or

devil! By that heaven that bends above us - by that God we both

adore Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aiden, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”

Quoth the Raven, “ Nevermore."

“ Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend !” I shrieked,

upstarting “ Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore ! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul bath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken ! - quit the bust above my

door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off


Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never fitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door ;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light, o'er him streaming, throws his shadow on

the floor ; And my soul from out that shadow, that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted nevermore!

E. A. Poe.


BREATHES there a man with soul so dead,

Who never to himself hath said, -
“ This is my own,

my native land!”
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,

From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go mark him well,
For him, no minstrel raptures swell!

High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch concentered all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung !

Sir W. Scott


O YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the West !

Through all the wide Border his steed is the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapon had none ;
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone ;
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented - the gallant came late ;
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar !

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all.
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word

here, or come ye

in war?
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?”

“ O come ye

“I long wooed your daughter ; my


Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide!
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure drink one cup of wine.
There be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar !"

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up-
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup!
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eyes
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar;
“ Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace !
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,
And the bridemaidens whispered, “ 'T were better, by far,
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar 1”

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear
When they reached the hall door, where the charger stood near ;
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
“ She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ;
They 'll have fleet steeds that follow ! ” cried



There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan :
Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran,
There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie lea !
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see !
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
ye e'er heard of gallant like young


Sir W. Scott


THE train from out the castle drew ;

But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : —
“Though something I might plain," he said,
“Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your king's behest,

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed,
Part we in friendship from your land,

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