And for him who sat by the chimney lug, Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug,
A manly form at her side she saw, And joy was duty and love was law.
Then she took up her burden of life again, Saying only, "It might have been."
Alas for maiden, alas for Judge,
For rich repiner and household drudge!
God pity them both! and pity us all, Who vainly the dreams of youth recall.
For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: "It might have been!"
Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies Deeply buried from human eyes;
And, in the hereafter, angels may
Roll the stone from its grave away!
ANOTHER hand is beckoning us,
Another call is given;
And glows once more with Angel-steps The path which reaches Heaven.
Our young and gentle friend whose smile Made brighter summer hours,
Amid the frosts of autumn time
Has left us, with the flowers.
No paling of the cheek of bloom Forewarned us of decay;
No shadow from the Silent Land Fell round our sister's way.
The light of her young life went down,
As sinks behind the hill
The glory of a setting star—
Clear, suddenly, and still.
As pure and sweet, her fair brow seemed- Eternal as the sky;
And like the brook's low song, her voice- A sound which could not die.
And half we deemed she needed not The changing of her sphere, To give to Heaven a Shining One, Who walked an Angel here.
The blessing of her quiet life
Fell on us like the dew;
And good thoughts, where her footsteps pressed, Like fairy blossoms grew.
Sweet promptings unto kindest deeds
Were in her very look;
We read her face, as one who reads A true and holy book:
The measure of a blessed hymn,
To which our hearts could move; The breathing of an inward psalm; A canticle of love.
We miss her in the place of prayer, And by the hearth-fire's light; We pause beside her door to hear
Once more her sweet "Good-night !"
There seems a shadow on the day, Her smile no longer cheers;
A dimness on the stars of night, Like eyes that look through tears.
Alone unto our Father's will
One thought hath reconciled; That He whose love exceedeth ours Hath taken home His child.
Fold her, oh Father! in thine arms, And let her henceforth be
A messenger of love between
Our human hearts and Thee.
Still let her mild rebuking stand Between us and the wrong,
And her dear memory serve to make Our faith in Goodness strong.
And, grant that she who, trembling, here Distrusted all her powers,
May welcome to her holier home
The well beloved of ours.
ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore- While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door- Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;-vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the lost Lenore- For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating ""Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door— Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"-here I opened wide the door;- Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing. Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before ; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore !”— Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me sce, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore- Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore ;-
"Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
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