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Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said,

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no craven,

art sur

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 doorBird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber

door,

With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour
Nothing farther 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 store
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 that melancholy burden bore

Of Never-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 yore

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of

yore

Meant in croaking "Nevermore"

This 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, neverinore

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

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censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. 'Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee-by these angels he hath sent thee

Kespite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh 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!--
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted-tell me truly, I implore-
Is there is there balm in Gilead?-tell me-tell me, I implore !"
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 Aidenn,
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 hath spoken!

Leave my

loneliness unbroken!-quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off

my door!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, 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's that is dreaming
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the

And

floor;

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

LENORE.

AH, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!

Let the bell toll!—a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;
And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear?-weep now or never
.more!

See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! let the burial rite be read-the funeral

be song sung!An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so youngA dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.

-

Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,

"And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her that she

died!

"How shall the ritual, then, be read?—the requiem how be

sung

By you-by yours, the evil eye,-by yours, the slanderous tongue

That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young ?"

Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong!

The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew beside,

Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been hy bride

For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies.
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes-
The life still there, upon her hair-the death upon her eyes.

"Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise,

"But waft the angel on her flight with a Paan of old days!

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Let no bell toll!-lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth, "Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damned Earth.

"To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is

riven

"From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven"From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven."

HYMN.

AT morn-at noon-at twilight dim-
Maria! thou hast heard my hymn!
In joy and wo-in good and ill-
Mother of God, be with me still!
When the Hours flew brightly by,
And not a cloud obscured the sky,
My soul, lest it should truant be,
Thy grace did guide to thine and thee
Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast
Darkly my Present and my Past,
Let my Future radiant shine

With sweet hopes of thee and thine!

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