Thou did’st see the sunlight quiver over many a fabled river, Thou did’st wander with the shadows of the mighty dead of yore, And thy songs to us came ringing, like the wild, unearthly singing Of the viewless spirits winging o’er the night’s Plutonian shore―― Of the weary spirits wandering by the gloomy Stygian shore―― Sighing dirges evermore. Thou did’st seem like one benighted――one whose hopes were crushed and blighted―― Mourning for the lost and lovely that the world could not restore; But an endless rest is given to thy heart, so wrecked and riven―― Thou hast met again in heaven with the lost and loved Lenore―― With the “rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore;” She will leave thee nevermore. From the earth a star has faded, and the shrine of song has shaded, And the Muses veil their faces, weeping sorrowful and sore; But the harp, all rent and broken, left us many a thrilling token, We shall hear its numbers spoken, and repeated o’er and o’er, Till our hearts shall cease to tremble――we shall hear them sounding o’er, Sounding ever, evermore. We shall hear them, like a fountain tinkling down a rugged mountain, Like the wailing of the tempest mingling ’mid the ocean’s roar; Like the winds of autumn sighing when the summer flowers are dying; Like a spirit-voice replying from a dim and distant shore; Like a wild, mysterious echo from a distant, shadowy shore, We shall hear them evermore. Nevermore wilt thou, undaunted, wander through the palace haunted, Or the cypress vales Titanic, which thy spirit did explore; Never hear the ghoul king, dwelling in the ancient steeple tolling, With a slow and solemn knelling, losses human hearts deplore; Telling in a sort of Runic rhyme the losses we deplore; Tolling, tolling, evermore. If a living human being ever had the gift of seeing The grim and ghastly countenance its evil genius wore, It was thou unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till thy song one burden bore―― Till the dirges of thy hope the melancholy burden bore―― Of never, nevermore. ―――――――― MY CHRISTMAS PUDDING; OR THE SCHOOLBOY’S DREAM. (With the Author’s apologies to Edgar Allan Poe.) (_By special request._)