THE RAVEN.

1.

Once upon a midnight dreary, 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 chamberdoor.

"'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber

door

Only this, and nothing more.'

2.

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 chamberdoor

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamberdoor

This it is, and nothing more.'

3.

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 chamberdoor,

That I scarce was sure I heard you'-here I opened wide

the door

Darkness there, and nothing more.

4.

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.'

5.

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 chamber-door

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber

door

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

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 shore

Tell 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 chamberdoor

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber

door,

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.
In those proud days he little cared
For husbandry or tillage;

To blither tasks did Simon rouse
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.

And still there's something in the world
At which his heart rejoices;

For when the chiming hounds are out,
He dearly loves their voices.

L

8

4.

But oh, the heavy change !—bereft

Of health, strength, friends and kindred, see Old Simon to the world is left

In liveried poverty:

His master's dead, and no one now
Dwells in the Hall of Ivor;
Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead;
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 legs are thin and dry.

He has no son, he has no child ;
His wife, an aged woman,
Lives with him near the waterfall,

Upon the village common.

6.

Beside their moss-grown hut of clay,
Not twenty paces from the door,
A scrap of land they have, but they
Are poorest of the poor.

This scrap of land he from the heath

Enclosed when he was stronger; But what avails the land to them 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.