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Much I marvel'd this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
With such name as “Nevermore !"
But the raven sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
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 Follow'd fast and follow'd faster, till his songs one burden bore,Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore,
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeld a cushion'd 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 yoreWhat 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 burn d 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! nevermore! Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseer Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted Noor. “Wretch," I cried, “ thy God hath lent thee-by these angels he
hath sent thee Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! Quatl, ol, 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 toss'd thee here ashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchantedOn this home by Horror haunted-tell me truly I imploreIs 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—hy 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 shriek'il,
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 door
Shall be listed-NEVERMORE!
NO GOD.--By N. K. Richardson.
Its Flag and Union in the hour of gloom, And lay Rebellion's spirit in the tomb? We publish God! The towering mountains cry, Jehovah's name is blazoned on the sky! The dancing streamlet and the golden grain, The lightning gleam, the thunder and the rain ;The dew-drop diamond on the lilies' breast, The tender leaf by every breeze caressed : The shell, whose pearly bosom ocean laves, And sea-weed bowing to a troop of waves. The glow of Venus and the glare of Mars, The tranquil beauty of the lesser stars; The Eagle, soaring in majestic flight, The morning bursting from the clouds of night. The child's fond prattle and the mother's prayer, Angelic voices floating upon airMind, heart, and soul, the ever-restless breath, And all the myriad-mysteries of death. Beware ye doubting disbelieving throng, Whose sole ambition is to favor wrong; There is a God; remember while ye can, "His Spirit will not always strive with man."
MY LORD TOMNODDY.-Ingoldsby Legends My Lord Tomnoddy got up one day;
It was half after two,
He had nothing to do,
Was clean of limb,
Tiger Tim, come tell me true,
An't please you, my Lord, there's a man to be hang'i." My Lord Tomnoddy jump'd up at the news,
“Run to MFuze,
And Lieutenant Tregooze,
Rope-dancers a score
I've seen before-
But to see a man swing
At the end of a string,
Through street, and through square,
His high-trotting mare,
She produced some alarm,
But did no great harm,
Spattering with clay
Two urchins at play, Knocking down-very much to the sweeper's dismayAn old woman who wouldn't get out of the way,
And upsetting a stall
Near Exeter Hall, Which made all the pious Church-mission folks squall,
But eastward afar,
The clock strikes twelve-it is dark midnight-
The parties are met;
The tables are set ; There is “punch," "cold without,” “hot with," "heavy wel*
Ale-glasses and jugs,
And rummers and mugs,
Cold fowl and cigars,
Pickled onions in jars,
And there is MʻFuze,
And Lieutenant Tregooze,
All come to see a man " die in his shoes |
Supper is done,
My Lord Tomnoddy
Is drinking gin-toddy,
Save Captain MFuze,
Who is taking a snooze,
The clock strikes Four !
Round the debtors' door
As many await
At the press-yard gate,
The clock strikes Five!