Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crispèd and sere— As the leaves that were withering and sere; And I cried—“It was surely October On _this_ very night of last year That I journeyed—I journeyed down here— That I brought a dread burden down here! On this night of all nights in the year, Ah, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber— This misty mid region of Weir— Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,— This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.” [Illustration: ULALUME.] BRIDAL BALLAD [Illustration] The ring is on my hand, And the wreath is on my brow; Satins and jewels grand Are all at my command, And I am happy now. And my lord he loves me well; But, when first he breathed his vow, I felt my bosom swell— For the words rang as a knell, And the voice seemed _his_ who fell In the battle down the dell, And who is happy now. But he spoke to reassure me, And he kissed my pallid brow, While a reverie came o’er me, And to the churchyard bore me, And I sighed to him before me, Thinking him dead D’Elormie, “Oh, I am happy now!” And thus the words were spoken, And thus the plighted vow, And, though my faith be broken, And, though my heart be broken, Behold the golden token That _proves_ me happy now! Would to God I could awaken! For I dream I know not how, And my soul is sorely shaken Lest an evil step be taken,— Lest the dead who is forsaken May not be happy now. LENORE [Illustration] 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 never more! 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. “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?” [Illustration: LENORE] _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 _débonnaire_, 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.