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6. 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 shoreTell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore !'
Quoth the Raven, Nevermore.'
7. 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
doorBird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamberdoor,
With such name as Nevermore.'
8. 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
yore What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous
bird of yore
Meant in croaking Nevermore.'
SIMON LEE, THE OLD HUNTSMAN.
1. In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
Not far from pleasant Ivor Hall, An old man dwells, a little man,
I've heard he once was tall. Full five-and-thirty years he lived
A running huntsman merry ; And still the centre of his cheek
Is red as a ripe cherry.
2. No man like him the horn could sound,
And hill and valley rang with glee, When echo bandied round and round
The shrill halloo of Simon Lee.
For husbandry or tillage ;
The sleepers of the village.
3. He all the country could outrun,
Could leave both man and horse behind ; And often, ere the chase was done,
He reeled and was stone-blind.
At which his heart rejoices ;
He dearly loves their voices.
4. But oh, the heavy change bereft
Of health, strength, friends and kindred, see Old Simon to the world is left
In liveried poverty:
Dwells in the Hall of Ivor;
He is the sole survivor,
5. And he is lean and he is sick,
His body dwindled and awry Rests upon
ankles swollen and thick;
His wife, an aged woman,
Upon the village common.
6. Beside their moss-grown hut of clay,
Not twenty paces from the door,
Are poorest of the poor.
Enclosed when he was stronger;
Which he can till no longer ?
7. Oft, working by her husband's side,
Ruth does what Simon cannot do ; For she, with scanty cause for pride,
Is stouter of the two.
And though you with your utmost skill
From labour could not wean them, 'Tis little, very little, all
That they can do between them.
As he to you will tell,
Do his weak ankles swell.
How patiently you've waited, And now I fear that you expect
Some tale will be related.
9. O reader ! had
mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle reader ! you would find
A tale in everything.
And you must kindly take it :
Perhaps a tale you 'll make it.
10. One summer-day I chanced to see
This old man doing all he could
A stump of rotten wood.
So vain was his endeavour,
He might have worked for ever.
11. You 're overtasked, good Simon Lee,
Give me your tool,' to him I said;
Received my proffered aid.
The tangled root I severed,
And vainly had endeavoured.
12. The tears into his eyes were brought,
And thanks and praises seemed to run
They never would have done.
With coldness still returning;