“_Salem-Alai-k_,” replied my illustrious traveler. I saluted her profoundly. * * * * * A NIGHT AT THE BLACK SIGN. BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. Ye, who follow to the measure Where the trump of Fortune leads, And at inns a-glow with pleasure Rein your golden-harnessed steeds, In your hours of lordly leisure Have ye heard a voice of wo On the starless wind of midnight Come and go? Pilgrim brothers, whose existence Rides the higher roads of Time, Hark, how from the troubled distance, Voices made by wo sublime, In their sorrow, claim assistance, Though it come from friend or foe— Shall they ask and find no answer? Rise and go. One there was, who in his sadness Laid his staff and mantle down, Where the demons laughed to madness What the night-winds could not drown— Never came a voice of gladness Though the cups should foam and flow, And the pilgrim thus proclaiming Rose to go. “All the night I hear the speaking Of low voices round my bed, And the dreary floor a-creaking Under feet of stealthy tread:— Like a very demon shrieking Swings the black sign to and fro, Come, arise, thou cheerless keeper, For I go. “On the hearth the brands are lying In a black, unseemly show; Through the roof the winds are sighing And they will not cease to blow; Through the house sad hearts replying Send their answer deep and low— Come, arise, thou cheerless keeper, For I go. “Tell me not of fires relighted And of chambers glowing warm, Or of travelers benighted, Overtaken by the storm. Urge me not; your hand is blighted As your heart is—even so! Come, arise, thou cheerless keeper— For I go. “Tell me not of goblets teeming With the antidote of pain, For its taste and pleasant seeming Only hide the deadly bane; Hear your sleepers tortured dreaming, How they curse thee in their wo! Come, arise, thou cheerless keeper, For I go.