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The place of the children's last retreat,
They called it, the Pied Piper's Street-
Where any one playing on pipe or tabor,
Was sure for the future to lose his labor.
Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern
To shock with mirth a street so solemn;
But opposite the place of the cavern
They wrote the story on a column,
And on the great church window painted
The same, to make the world acquainted
How their children were stolen away;
And there it stands to this very day.
And I must not omit to say

That in Transylvania there's a tribe
Of alien people, that ascribe

The outlandish ways and dress

On which their neighbors lay such stress,
To their fathers and mothers having risen
Out of some subterraneous prison
Into which they were trepanned
Long ago in a mighty band,

Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,
But how or why, they don't understand.

So Willy, let you and me be wipers

Of scores out with all men-especially pipers,

And whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

THE RAVEN.

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

Once 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,

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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,

66

"Sir," said I, or Madam, truly your forgiveness I im

plore;

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.

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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:

ار

'Tis the wind, and nothing more.'

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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 smil

ing,

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 marvelled 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,

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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 farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered,

Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown 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

Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore

Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore

Of 'Never-nevermore!'"'

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 express

ing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bos

om'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 pass, ah, nevermore !

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from

an unseen censer

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 his 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."

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