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2. “Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man
this day! Mount thy good horse, and thou and I will meet him on
his way." Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his
steed, And urged as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy
3. And lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glitter
ing band, With one that 'midst them stately rode, as leader in the
land! "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth,
The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long
4. His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's
hue came and went; He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there
dismounting, bent; A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he tookWhat was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook ?
5. That hand was cold—a frozen thing-it dropped from his
like lead! He looked up to the face above—the face was of the dead? A plume waved o'er the noble brow—the brow was fixed
and white; He met, at last, his father's eyes—but in them was no sight!
6. Up from the ground he sprang and gazed—but who could
paint that gaze ? They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and
They might have chained him, as before that stony form
he stood; For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip 7. “Father!” at last he murmured low, and wept like child
hood then: Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike
men! He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young
He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat
8. Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly
mournful brow, “No more, there is no more,” he said, “to lift the
sword for now; My king is false--my hope betrayed! My father 1-0 the
worth, The glory, and the loveliness are passed away from earth! 9. “I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire,
beside thee yet! I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil
had met! Thou wouldst have known my spirit then; for thee my
fields were won; And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst
no son! 10. Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the
monarch's rein, Amid the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train; And with a fierce o’ermastering grasp, the rearing war
horse led, And sternly set them face to face—the king before the
dead. 11.“ Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to
kiss ? Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me, what is
this? The voice, the glance, the heart I sought-give answer,
where are they? If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through
this cold clay!
12. “Into these glassy eyes put light—be still! keep down
thine ire! Bid these white lips a blessing speak—this earth is not my
sire; Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood
was shed! Thou canst not?—and a king!-his dust be mountains on
13. He loosed the steed—his slack hand fell ; upon the silent
face He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from
that sad place ; His hope was crushed; his after fate untold in martial
strain; His banner led the spears no more amid the hills of Spain.
EDGAR A. POE.
1. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and
weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten loreWhile 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." 2. 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 named Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore
3. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple cur
tain, 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
doorSome late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door:
That it is, and nothing more.”
4. Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer, “Sir," said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I
implore; 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.
5. 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 darkness 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.
6. Back into the chamber tur ing, 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 win
Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery exploreLet my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;
'Tis the wind, and nothing more.”
7. Open then 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 an instant stopped
or stayed he: But, with mien of lord or lady,
chamber doorPerched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
8. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it
"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!"
9. Much I marveled 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
doorBird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door
With such a name as Nevermore!"
10. But the raven sitting ionely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did out