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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, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget the lost Lenore!"

"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 en

chanted,

On this home by Horror haunted,

plore,

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 door!

off my

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 lamplight 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!

S

PEAK! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armor drest,

Comest to daunt me !

Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,

Why dost thou haunt me?"

Then, from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December;
And, like the water's flow
Under December's snow,

Came a dull voice of woe
From the heart's chamber.

"I was a Viking old!
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,

No Saga taught thee!

Take heed, that in thy verse Thou dost the tale rehearse, Else dread a dead man's curse; For this I sought thee.

"Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic's strand,
I, with my childish hand,
Tamed the gerfalcon ;

And, with my skates fast bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

"Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grisly bear,

While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf's bark,

Until the soaring lark

Sang from the meadow.

"But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair's crew,
O'er the dark sea I flew
With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.

Many a wassail-bout Wore the long winter out; Often our midnight shout Set the cocks crowing, As we the Berserk's tale Measured in cups of ale, Draining the open pail, Filled to o'erflowing.

"Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,
Burning yet tender;

And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,

On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendor.

“I wooed the blue-eyed maid, Yielding, yet half afraid, And in the forest's shade

Our vows were plighted. Under its loosened vest Fluttered her little breast, Like birds within their nest By the hawk frighted.

"Bright in her father's hall Shields gleamed upon the wall, Loud sang the minstrels all,

Chanting his glory;