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158
SONGS FOR BOYHOOD.
THE CAVALIER'S SONG.
William Motherwell.
A steed ! a steed of matchlesse speed,
A sword of metal keene! All else to noble heartes is drosse,
All else on earth is meane. The neighyinge of the war-horse prowde,
The rowling of the drum, The clangor of the trumpet lowde,
Be soundes from heaven that come ; But oh ! the thundering presse of knightes
Whenas their war-cryes swell, May tole from heaven an angel bright,
And rouse a fiend from hell!
Then mounte! then mouute, brave gallauts, all,
Aud don your helmes amaine : Death's couriers, Fame and Honor, call
Us to the field againe. No shrewish teares shall fill our eye
When the sword-hilt's in our hand� Heart-whole we'll part, and uo whit sighe
For the fayrest of the land; Let piping swaine and craven wight
Thus weepe and puling crye, Our business is like men to fight,
And hero-like to die!
From my books surcease of sorrow�sorrow for the
lost Leuore, For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels
name Lenore�
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silkeu, sad, uncertain rustling of each pur�ple 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 cham�ber door-Some late visitor entreating entrance at my cham�ber 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 mortal 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, " Leuore!" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the
word, " Lenore!"
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back iuto the chamber turning, all rny 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 see, then, what thereat is, and this mys�tery explore�
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore:
'Tis the wind, and nothing nore."
THE RAVEN.
Edgar Allan Poe.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgot�ten 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 De�cember,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow







E-Book - An Annotated Compendium of Old Time American Songs by James Alverson III