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In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats

From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.

And the people-ah the people-
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,

And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,

Feel a glory in so rolling

On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman—
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls:

And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,

A pæan from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the pean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pean of the bells-
Of the bells:

Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,


To the throbbing of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells-

To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,

As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the tolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
Bells, bells, bells-

To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.



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,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

""Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber


Only this and nothing more."

Ah distinctly I remember it was in the bleak Decem


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


Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt


So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood


"Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber


This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no


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


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.

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


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 “ flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of


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 ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into


By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it


"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 blest with seeing bird above his chamber door

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as "Nevermore."

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



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


Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of


What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned 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 lamplight gloated o'er,-

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er

She shall press 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!

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