Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted— On 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-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 lamp-light 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! THE skies they were ashen and sober; Of my most immemorial year; Here once, through an alley Titanic, As the lavas that restlessly roll Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere- For we knew not the month was October, And now, as the night was senescent Out of which a miraculous crescent And I said 'She is warmer than Dian: She has seen that the tears are not dry on To shine on us with her bright eyes- But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Plumes till they trailed in the dust— I replied 'This is nothing but dreaming: With Hope and in Beauty to-night:- 'Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, And be sure it will lead us aright— We safely may trust to a gleaming That cannot but guide us aright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night,' 758 Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And I said 'What is written, sweet sister, Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crisped and sere- On this very night of last year Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, THE BELLS I HEAR the sledges with the bells Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! In the icy air of night! Keeping time, time, time, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. II Hear the mellow wedding bells- What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats Oh, from out the sounding cells, How it dwells On the Future !-how it tells Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! III Hear the loud alarum bells- What a tale of terror, now their turbulency tells! How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, Out of tune, |