And fair Hebe no more can return, Until the death of life is done, Until the race of life is run, And the future vanquish’d, yet won, And the goal eternal won―― Till she’s drunk of the Letheian river, And Phœbus and Hope have for ever Mingled their beings in one. This imitation of _Ulalume_, written by Mr. John H. Ingram, was published in 1863, when its author was in his teens. The little volume which contained it, entitled “Poems by Dalton Stone,” has been suppressed, and is now very scarce. ――――:o:―――― LENORE. I. Ah! 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 nevermore! See, on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love Lenore! Come, let the burial rite be read, the funeral song be sung; An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young,―― A dirge for her, the doubly dead, in that she died so young. II. “Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride, And when she fell in feeble health ye blessed her, that she died! How _shall_ the ritual, then, be read――the requiem how be sung, By you――by yours, the evil eye――by yours, the slanderous tongue, That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young.” III. _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, Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride; For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies, The life upon her yellow hair, but not within her eyes,―― The life still there upon her hair, the death upon her eyes. IV. “Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise, But waft the angel on her flight with a pæan of old days. Let _no_ bell toll; lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth, Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damnèd earth. To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven; From hell unto a high estate far up within the heaven, From grief and groan, to a golden throne beside the King of heaven.” EDGAR ALLAN POE.