Stars in the sky, For it sparkles with Annie; Of the love of my Annie,- SONG FROM THE ASSIGNATION > HOU wast that all to me, love, THO For which my soul did pine: 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; Are where thy dark eye glances 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. 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 the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer,— Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; 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, For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before!" Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 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 This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. Respite respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! "Prophet!" cried I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!- Is there is there balm in Gilead? Tell me! tell me, I implore!" "Prophet!" cried I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!- "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; floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted-nevermore! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! In the icy air of night! In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells Bells, bells, bells, From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. II Hear the mellow wedding bells,- What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!" How they ring out their delight! And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it dwells On the Future! How it tells Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells, To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! |