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! : ག LENORE. Aн, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown for ever! Let the bell toll!-a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river; And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear?-weep now or never more ! See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! RETCHES! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride, How shall the ritual, then, be read ?--the requiem how be sung tongue That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?" Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong! The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew beside, For her, the fair and débonnaire, that now so lowly lies, "Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise, |