The village bridal and other poems. Also, two lectures

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Página 109 - Hear the loud alarum bells, Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire...
Página 109 - 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! 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!
Página 109 - 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.
Página 109 - 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 floor Shall be lifted — nevermore...
Página 109 - Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging 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, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — Of the bells— Of the bells, bells, bells...
Página 108 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.
Página 109 - Go to the raging sea, and say, " Be still !" Bid the wild lawless winds obey thy will ; Preach to the storm, and reason with Despair, But tell not Misery's son that life is fair.
Página 107 - Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou ? Began the rev'rend Sage ! Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or youthful pleasure's rage ? Or, haply, prest with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast began To wander forth, with me, to mourn The miseries of Man.
Página 108 - O death ! the poor man's dearest friend. The kindest and the best ! Welcome the hour my aged limbs Are laid with thee at rest ! The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, From pomp and pleasure torn ; But, Oh ! a blest relief to those That weary-laden mourn ! A PRAYER, IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH.
Página 109 - Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang and clash and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows...

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