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, 16 ""Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; 20 24 This it is and nothing more. Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 28 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, 32 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; 36 "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, 10 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 ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 44 By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 48 "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, 52 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.' 56 60 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. Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'Other friends have flown before- 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 64 Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of "Never But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, nevermore.' 68 Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; 122 72 This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 80 Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls 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 this lost Lenore!' 84 Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.' 'Prophet!' said 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 88 On this Home by horror haunted tell me truly, I implore Is there is there balm in Gilead? -- 'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil tell me, I implore!' Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore." tell me prophet still, if bird or devil! 92 By that Heaven that bends above us by that God we both adore Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, 96 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! 100 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 104 On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 108 And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, 5 10 15 20 25 30 What a world of merriment their melody foretells! To the tintinabulation that so musically wells Hear the mellow wedding bells, What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! From the molten golden notes, To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! 35 40 To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! Hear the loud alarum bells Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! How they scream out their affright! In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 45 In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire. Leaping higher, higher, higher, 60 With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavour What a tale their terror tells How they clang, and clash, and roar! On the bosom of the palpitating air! And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, 65 By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells 70 75 Of the bells - What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people ah, the people And who tolling, tolling, tolling, On the human heart a stone And their king it is who tolls; A pæan from the bells! -- NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. ATHANIEL HAWTHORNE (1804— NA 1864) was born at Salem, near Boston, Mass., as the son of a sea-captain. He studied at Bowdoin College, Brunswick, Me. But, averse from choosing a profession, he lived with his mother in close retirement at Salem, and early began to write stories for the magazines. Through the influence of political friends, he three times held public offices: from 1839-41 he was weigher and gauger in the Boston Custom House, from 1846-49 Surveyor of Customs at Salem, and from 1853-57 U.S. Consul at Liverpool. Before returning home from England, he spent about two years in Italy. In 1852 he bought a house 'The Wayside' at Concord, Mass., where he mostly lived during his later years. He died at Plymouth, N.H., in his sixtieth year. Hawthorne is the greatest of the American novelists. His romances show a |