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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 dis

aster

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

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Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore,

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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!"

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burn'd 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!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an un

seen censer

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!"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

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6 Prophet!" said I, “thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!

Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest toss'd thee here ashore,

Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted On this home by Horror haunted, -tell me truly I implore,— Is there, is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I im

plore?"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that heaven that bends above us—by that God we both

adore,.

Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if, within the distant

Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name

Lenore;

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore!"

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"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 that lie thy soul hath

spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!

door!

quit the bust above my

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!

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Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

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 demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the

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THEY'VE got a bran new organ, Sue,
For all their fuss and search;

They've done just as they said they'd do,
And fetched it into church.

They're bound the critter shall be seen,
And on the preacher's right,
They've hoisted up their new machine
In everybody's sight.
They've got a chorister and choir,
Ag'n my voice and vote;

For it was never my desire,

To praise the Lord by note!

I've been a sister good an' true,
For five an' thirty year;

I've done what seemed my part to do,

An' prayed my duty clear;

I've sung the hymns both slow and quick,
Just as the preacher read;

And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick,
I took the fork an' led!

And now, their bold, new-fangled ways

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I al'ays liked that blessed hymn

I s'pose I al'ays will;

It somehow gratifies my whim,
In good old Ortonville;

But when that choir got up to sing,

I couldn't catch a word;

They sung the most dog-gonedest thing, A body ever heard!

Some worldly chaps was standin' near,
An' when I seed them grin,
I bid farewell to every fear,
And boldly waded in.

I thought I'd chase their tune along,
An' tried with all my might;

But though my voice is good an' strong
I couldn't steer it right;

When they was high, then I was low,

An' also contra'wise;

And I too fast, or they too slow,
To "mansions in the skies."

An' after every verse, you know
They played a little tune;
I didn't understand, an' so

I started in too soon.

I pitched it pritty middlin' high,
I fetched a lusty tone,
But oh, alas! I found that I

Was singing there alone!
They laughed a little, I am told;

But I had done my best;
And not a wave of trouble roiled

Across my peaceful breast.

And sister Brown - I could but look

She sits right front of me ;

She never was no singin' book,
An' never meant to be;

But then she al'ays tried to do

The best she could, she said;
She understood the time, right through,
An' kep' it, with her head;
But when she tried this mornin', oh,
I had to laugh, or cough-

It kep' her head a bobbin' so,

It e'en a'most came off!

An' Deacon Tubbs, he all broke down,

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As one might well suppose,

He took one look at sister Brown,
And meekly scratched his nose.

He looked his hymn-book through and through
And laid it on the seat,

And then a pensive sigh he drew,

And looked completely beat.
An' when they took another bout,
He didn't even rise,

But drawed his red bandanner out,
An' wiped his weepin' eyes.

I've been a sister, good an' true,
For five an' thirty year;

I've done what seemed my part to do,

An' prayed my duty clear;

But death will stop my voice, I know,
For he is on my track;

And some day, I to church will go,
And never more come back.

And when the folks get up to sing -
Whene'er that time shall be

I do not want no PATENT thing

A squealin' over me!

WILL CARleton.

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