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Stars in the sky,

For it sparkles with Annie;
It glows with the light

Of the love of my Annie,-
With the thought of the light
Of the eyes of my Annie.

SONG FROM THE ASSIGNATION >

HOU wast that all to me, love,

THO

For which my soul did pine:
A green isle in the sea, love,

A fountain and a shrine,

All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers; And all the flowers were mine.

Ah, dream too bright to last!

Ah, starry Hope, that didst arise

But to be overcast!

A voice from out the Future cries,

"Onward!” — but o'er the Past

(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies, Mute-motionless - aghast!

For alas! alas! with me

The light of life is o'er.

"No more no more -no more »

(Such language holds the solemn sea

To the sands upon the shore)

"Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,

Or the stricken eagle soar!"

Now all my hours are trances;
And all my nightly dreams

Are where thy dark eye glances
And where thy footstep gleams,

In what ethereal dances,

By what Italian streams.

Alas for that accursed time

They bore thee o'er the billow,

From Love to titled age and crime,

And an unholy pillow!

From me, and from our misty clime,

Where weeps the silver willow.

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THE RAVEN

NCE 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 chamber door. 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door: Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow: vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore,
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,—
Nameless here for evermore.

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 my chamber door:
This it is, and nothing more."

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 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 chamber door,— Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door,— Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebon 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."

Much I marveled 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-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door
With such name as "Nevermore."

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 be-
fore!

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
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore,—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

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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
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 lamplight gloated o'er,-
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen

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Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls 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 the lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore. »

"Prophet!" cried 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!" cried 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 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!

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What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,

In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells,

From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II

Hear the mellow wedding bells,-
Golden bells!

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!"
Through the balmy air of night

How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden notes,

And all in tune,

What a liquid ditty floats

To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!

Oh, from out the sounding cells,

What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!

How it dwells

On the Future! How it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing

Of the bells, bells, bells,

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells,

To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

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