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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.

and weary,

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak 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 chanıber

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

LenoreFor the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore

Nan.eless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple

curtain Thrilled me e-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 im

plore; But the fact is—I was napping, and so gently you came

rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my cham

ber 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 ex

plore; 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 Airt

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 doorPerched 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 110 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 cham

ber doorBird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his cham

ber door,

With such name as Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, sroke

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

futtered, 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 boreTill the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden

bore

Of “Never-nevermore !'”

bird of yore

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

yoreWhạt this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and o:ninous

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 re

clining 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 !

an unseen censer

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from 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, “Neverniore." “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 en

chantedOn 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 adoreTell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant

Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name

LenoreClasp 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 Pluto

nian shore ! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul

bath 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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