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Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore :"

Quoth the raven, “ Nevermore !” 9. Much I marvell’d this ungainly fowl to hear dis

course so plainly, Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy

bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human

being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his cham

ber door, Bird or beast upon the sculptur'd bust above his chamber door,

With such a name as “ Nevermore." 10. But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust,

spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he

did outpour; Nothing further then he utter'd—not a feather then

he fluttered Till I scarcely more than mutter'd, “Other friends

have flown beforeOn the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."

Then the bird said “ Nevermore." 11. 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 unmerci

ful disaster Follow'd fast and follow'd faster, till his songs one

burden bore Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore

Of “Never—nevermore."

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LITERARY READER.

LITERARY READER. 47 12. But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into

smiling, Straight I wheel'd a cushion'd 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 yoreWhat this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking “Nevermore.” 13. Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable

expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burnt into my

bosom'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 press, ah, nevermore ! 14.“ Prophet !” said 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.” 15.“ Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!”

I shriek'd upstarting“ Get thee back into the tempest and the night's

Plutonian shore !

Leave no black plume as a token of the 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.” . 16. 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 dæmon's

that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his

shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that is floating on the floor Shall be lifted “Nevermore."

E. A. POE.

THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT. 1. An outlandish knight came from the North lands,

And he came a-wooing to me,
And he told me he'd take me into the North lands,

And there he would marry me.
2. “Come, fetch me some of your father's gold,

And some of your mother's fee ;
And two of the best nags out of the stable,

Where they stand thirty and three.”
3. She fetched him some of her father's gold

And some of her mother's fee;
And two of the best nags out of the stable,

Where they stood thirty and three.
4. She mounted her on her milk-white steed,

He on the dapple grey;

They rode till they came unto the sea-side,

Three hours before it was day.
5. “Light off, light off thy milk-white steed,

And deliver it unto me;
Six pretty maids have I drowned here,

And thou the seventh shall be.
6. “Pull off, pull off thy silken gown,

And deliver it unto me;
Methinks it looks too rich and too gay

To rot in the salt sea.
7. “Pull off, pull off thy silken stays,

And deliver them unto me;
Methinks they are too fine and gay

To rot in the salt sea.
8. “Pull off, pull off thy Holland smock,

And deliver it unto me;
Methinks it looks too rich and gay

To rot in the salt sea.”
9. “If I must pull off my Holland smock,

Pray turn thy back unto me,
For it is not fitting that such a ruffian

A woman unclad should see.” 10. He turned his back towards her,

And viewed the leaves so green;
She catch'd him round the middle so small,

And tumbled him into the stream. 11. He dropped high, and he dropped low,

Until he came to the tide, “Catch hold of my hand, my pretty maiden,

And I will make you my bride.' 12.“ Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man,

Lie there instead of me;
Six pretty maidens have you drowned here,

And the seventh has drowned thee.”

13. She mounted on her milk-white steed,

And led the dapple grey,
She rode till she came to her father's hall,
Three hours before it was day.

OLD BALLAD.

THE PRIEST AND THE MULBERRY TREE. 1. Did you hear of the curate who mounted his mare,

And merrily trotted along to the fair ?
Of creature more tractable none ever heard,
In the height of her speed she would stop at a word ;
But again with a word, when the curate said, Hey,

She put forth her mettle and gallop'd away.
2. As near to the gates of the city he rode,
While the sun of September all brilliantly glow'd,
The good priest discover'd, with eyes of desire,
A mulberry-tree in a hedge of wild briar;
On boughs long and lofty, in many a green shoot,

Hung, large, black, and glossy, the beautiful fruit. 3. The curate was hungry, and thirsty to boot; He shrunk from the thorns, though he long'd for

the fruit; With a word he arrested his courser's keen speed, And he stood up erect on the back of his steed; On the saddle he stood while the creature stood still,

And he gather'd the fruit till he took his good fill. 4. “Sure, never," he thought, “ was a creature so rare,

So docile, so true, as my excellent mare;
Lo, here now I stand," and he gazed all around,
“ As safe and as steady as if on the ground;
Yet how had it been, if some traveller this way

Had, dreaming nomischief, but chanced to cry, Hey?" 5. He stood with his head in the mulberry-tree,

And he spoke out aloud in his fond reverie;

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