And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain, Thrilled me,-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, ""Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door,Some late visitor entreating entrance at chamber-door; That it is, and nothing more.' my Fresently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"-here I opened wide the door: Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 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 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 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 a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamberdoor, Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-doorPerched, 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!" D* Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore; But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have Startled at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly spoken, 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 Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an un seen 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 Respite-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 floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted-NEVERMORE! NO GOD.-N. K. RICHARDSON. Is there no God? The white rose made reply, The blue-bird warbled from his shady bower, Is there no God? The silvery ocean spray Is there no God? The greedy worm that raves For daily morsels sent of flesh and blood. Is there no God? The dying Christian's hand, He, sweetly smiling, faintly murmurs--God. No God! Who broke the shackles from the slave? We publish God!-The towering mountains cry. The glow of Venus and the glare of Mars, The morning bursting from the clouds of night, Mind, heart, and soul, the ever-restless breath, Beware ye doubting disbelieving throng, MY LORD TOMNODDY.-R. H. BARHAM. My Lord Tomnoddy got up one day; So his Lordship rang for his cabriolet. Tiger Tim Was clean of limb, His boots were polished, his jacket was trim; He stood in his stockings just four foot ten; My Lord Tomuoddy he raised his head, 66 Malibran's dead, Taglioni has not yet arrived in her stead; What may a nobleman find to do?" Tim looked up, and Tim looked down, And he held up his hat, and he peeped in the crown, He let go the handle, and thus he said, As the door, released, behind him banged: "An't please you, my Lord, there's a man to be hanged." My Lord Tomnoddy jumped up at the news, "Run to M'Fuze, And Lieutenant Tregooze, And run to Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues. I've seen before Madame Sacchi, Antonio, and Master Black-more: At the end of a string, With his neck in a noose, will be quite a new thing!" Through street, and through square, Like one of Ducrow's, goes pawing the air, Went the high-trotting mare at a very quick pace; Save frightening a nurse with a child on her arm, Two urchins at play, Knocking down--very much to the sweeper's dismay— An old woman who wouldn't get out of the way, And upsetting a stall Which made all the pious Church-mission folks squall; My Lord Tomnoddy directs his car; Never heeding their squalls, Or their calls, or their bawls, He passes by Waithman's Emporium for shawls, Where in front of the gaol, he |