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Struggle through such a raging flood

Safe to the landing-place:
But his limbs were borne up bravely

By the brave heart within,
And our good ther Tiber

Bare bravely up his chin.

"Curse on him !” quoth false Sextus,

66 Will not the villain drown?
But for this stay, ere close of day

We should have sacked the town!”
“Heaven help him!” quoth Lars Porsena,

“And bring him safe to shore;
For such a gallant feat of arms

Was never seen before."

And now he feels the bottom;

Now on dry earth he stands,
Now round him throng the Fathers

To press his gory hands;
And now with shouts and clapping,

And noise of weeping loud,
He enters through the River-gate,

Borne by the joyous crowd

THE RAVEN.

Edgar A. Poa Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore While I nodded, Learly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door: s'Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door

Only this and nothing more.”

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 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 curtain Thrille i me-- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating “ 'Tis sime visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door — Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door ;

This it is and nothing more.”

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.

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 explore — 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 a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
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 smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
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 v:hat 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 further then he uttered ; not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have fown

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 store 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 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 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 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 unseen

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.”

“Prophet!” said I, “ thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed 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 implore!”

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.”

Quoth the Raven, “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!”

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 floor

Shall be lifted — nevermore !

EXCELSIOR. Henry W. Longfellowo.
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, ʼmid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device

Excelsior!

His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,

Excelsior

In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,

Excelsior!

“Try not the Pass !” the old man said ;
“Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!”
And loud that clarion voice replied

Excelsior!

“O stay,” the maiden said, “and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,

Excelsior!

“Beware the pine-tree's withered brancb!
Beware the awful avalanche!
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,

Excelsior!

At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air

Excelsior!

A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device

Excelsior!

There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,

Excelsior

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