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Presently 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 mortal 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 my 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 exploreLet my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
'Tis the wind, and nothing more. Open here I Aung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
futter, 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 chamber
doorPerched above 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, “Never more.” 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
With such name as “ Never more." 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 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, “Never more. Startled by 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
Of “ Never, never more.” 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 into fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yoreWhat this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous
Meant in croaking “Never more.”
bird of yore
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, never more ! Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an 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 my memories of
Lenore ! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore !”
Quoth the Raven, “Never more !” “Prophet,” said I,“ thing of evil !--propbet 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 truly, I implore !”
Quoth the Raven, “Never more." "Prophet,” said I," thing of evi! !-prophet still, if bird or
devil! By that heaven that bends above us- -by that God we both
adoreTell 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, " Never more."
PATENT BROWN STOUT.
“ Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend,” I
shrieked, upstarting“Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian 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, “Never more.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sittinį, 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 shadon
on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow, that lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted-never more !
Edgar Allan Po..
PATENT BROWN STOUT.
A BREWER in a country town,
PATENT BROWN STOUT.
His foreman was a lusty black,
In all directions, round about,
See,” cried his moralising master,
Next morn a publican, whose tap