How we shiver with affright, At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people--ah, the people— And who tolling, tolling, tolling, On the human heart a stone They are neither man nor woman— And their king it is who tolls; A pæan from the bells! With the pan of the bells! To the pean of the bells- To the throbbing of the bellsOf the bells, bells, bells, To the sobbing of the bells; To the rolling of the bells, To the tolling of the bells, To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. -Edgar A. Poe. [light. When the sweet sunbeams have brought us their Angels were anxiously longing to meet One who walks with them in heaven's bright street; Loved ones have whispered that some one is blest, Ο NCE upon a midnight dreary, The Raven. While I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious Volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, Suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, Rapping at my chamber door. Ah, distinctly I remember, From my books surcease of sorrow And the silken, sad, uncertain Entrance at my chamber door- Entrance at my chamber door;This it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger; Hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly Your forgiveness I implore; Deep into the darkness peering, Was the whispered word, "Lenore!" This I whispered, and an echo Murmered back the word, "Lenore!" Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window-lattice; Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery ex plore Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore: 'Tis the wind and nothing more." Open then 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 ebon 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 marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning, littie 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 by the stillness broken By reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters It is only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master Whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster, Till his songs one burden boreTill the dirges of his hope the Melancholy burden bore Of 'Nevermore'-of 'Nevermore.'' But the raven still beguiling All my sad soul into smiling, I betook myself to linking What this ominous bird of yore-- Burned into my bosom's core; That the lamplight gloated o'er; With the lamplight gloating o'er, Then methought, the air grew denser, "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee, From thy memories of Lenore! Tempest tossed thee here ashore, Is there is there balm in Gilead? "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 fair 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 the lie thy soul hath spoken! [my door! Leave my loneliness unbroken!-quit the bust above Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form off my door!" Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting [door; On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; [the floor And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on Shall be lifted--nevermore! -Edgar Allen Poe. The Fire-Bell Story. ONG-Dong-the bells rang out DON Over the housetops; and then a shout Came mingled with the clatter of engine wheel The sound goes ringing out over the town; From the brazen throat of the iron-tongued bell, Through dingy windows; where flames and smoke See the affrighted ones look out In helpless terror, in horrible doubt, The ladders, by arms so stroug and bold, Yet nerved to strength by her deep woe's power, Ah! ye who mourn -George L. Catlin. |