THE RAVEN

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, sudenly there came a tapping, 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 
“ ‘T is 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 soght 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 
“ ‘T is 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 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, 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 somewhat louder than before. 
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice; 
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore- 
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;- 
 ‘T is 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. 
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door- 
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door- 
 Perched and sat and nothing more 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 
By the grave stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, 
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore- 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!” 
 Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning-little relevancy bore; 
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door- 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, 
 With such name as “Nevermore.” 

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 
Nothing farther then he uttered -not a feather then he fluttered- 
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before- 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.” 
 Then the bird said “Nevermore.”  Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
“Doubtless.” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store 
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore- 
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore 
 Of ‘Never-nevermore.’ “ 
 But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore- 
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaurit, and ominous bird of yore 
 Meant in croaking “Nevermore.” 
 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core; 
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er, 
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,- 
 She shall press, ah, nevermore! 
 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. 
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee -by these angels he hath sent thee 
Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; 
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!” 
 Quoth the Raven “Nevermore” 

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! -prophet still, if bird or devil! 
By that Heaven that bends above us -by that God we both adore- 
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore- 
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.” 
 Quoth the Raven “Nevermore” 

 “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting- 
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -quit the bust above my door! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” 
 Quoth the Raven”Nevermore.” 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, 
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 
 Shall be lifted - nevermore! 

BELA 

Bein gaberdi goibel baten, aiturik nengoen urjasten 
Izti bakan zarraetatik jakin gai aztu asko - 
Lo-min neukan, bat-batean ostxo bat entzun zanean, 
Norbaitek jo bai´lukean, atean legunki jo, 
“Jotzen” apetik esan nun, “ikustzaile bat dago- 
Au soilki, deus ez geio”. 

Oi! gogoratzen naiz ontsa, Lotazilla zan, beltz-otza; 
Iltzer txindarrek lurrean ireldu bana jaso. 
Goiza opa nun naikorrik - billatu bai nun alperrik 
Idaztietan pozorrik - Lenor galdu ezkero - 
Neska bakar dizdikorra Lenor Gotzonentzako - 
Giz-izenik ez geio. 

Itzalkin gorbeltz bakoitzak zegin firfir argal, itsak 
Nindadukan iñoizko latz - ikararen nebeko; 
Nola, biotz-pilpirari nare-gai, bai´nintzan ari 
Ikustzaile bat da ori ate-joka sartzeko - 
Ikustzaile berandu bat ate-joka sartzeko; - 
Ori, ba, deus ez geio. 

Gogoa biztu zitzaitan; ezbaiak utzirik bertan, 
“Jaun”, esan nun, edo Andre, azkespen-eske' nago; 
Erdi-lo nintzan, jakizu et'ain aulki deitu dezu, 
Et-ain legunki jo dezu, nire gela-atean jo, 
Ez bai'nintzan ziur entzunik” -zabaldu nun zearo;- 
Illuna, deus ez geio. 

Illunbe barna beiratuz, egoan nengon, arrituz, 
Kexkan, amesten inork ez amestuak gaurdaño; 
Ixilgoa zan iraunkor, gauko gentza ez ikurkor, 
Itz bakar au esanik or izan zan: “Lenor! geldo; 
Nik nun suzmurtu t 'anotsak: “Lenor!” birresan gero. 
Au baizik deus ez geio. 

Gelan atzera sartzean, dana sukar biotzean, 
Birjotzen entzun nun aurki len baño gogorxkago. 
“Baitin”, esan nun, “baitin da, zerbait leiarrean ba-da, 
Ikus, beraz, zer degun da ezkutu au ikert oro- 
Biotza bekit 'ekuru t 'ezkutu ikert oro;- 
Aizea da deus geio!” 

Leioak zabal iriki nitun, orduan, aundizki, 
Antxiñako Bela deun bat sartu zan, egak arro, 
Ez nindun agurtu ere; gelditu ez zan batere; 
Bai, jaun-antz, -edo andere-, ate gañerat igo- 
An zan Pallas 'en irudi baten gañerat igo-. 
Igo, t 'egon, deus geio. 

Txori beltzak eraginik, naiz its nintzan, irkaitzez nik, 
Ain ben eratsu ta garratz antz-ematen zulako-: 
Gandorra motz euki-arren, ez aiz makala, zearren, 
Gau-baztarretik atorren Bela beltz, zar, latz oso- 
Pluton'en gau-bazter artan zer dek jaun- izeneko?” 
Belak:”Iñoiz ez geio.” 

Txori zatarrak ain ongi itz-eginda geldu nun agitz, 
Izana gatik jarduna ikur, zentzun gutxiko; 
Ezin bai' degu ezeztu, ilkorrik dan iñork ez du 
Ate-gañean begiztu egaztirik gaurdaño- 
Irudi baten gañean piztiren bat gaur daño, 
Deitzen “Iñoiz ez geio.” 

Berriz, Bela zegon zurtzik, t 'ez zun esan ori baizik, 
Irur itzotan gogoa lasaitu naian edo, 
Oboro ez zun erasi - ezta egatzik iarrosi- 
Nik zuzmurt 'arte “ Igesi joan zaizkit lagun asko- 
Biar utziko nau, nola itxaroek lenago.” 
Belak: “Iñoiz ez geio.” 

Ain egoki erantzunaz arritu bai'nintzan benaz, 
“Ziur”, esan nun, “irur itzok ditu iztegi oro, 
Irakaslea jabe bat. Elkaitzak jorik aldebat 
Aren doñuek lelo bat soilki eukitzeraño- 
Itxaroen eresiek lelo eukitzeraño 
Iñoiz -iñoiz ez geio.” 

Berriz. Belak eraginik, ekarri nun, irkaitz 'inik, 
Alki bat ate, irudi, txorien aurreraño; 
Illazkietan sartuta, jarri nintzan gogoeta 
Erabilkatzen, bai eta zer zuken antxiñako 
Egazti latz, zatar, zingil, beltz orrek esan naiko 
Kuatuz “Iñoiz ez geio.” 

Orren billa nintzan ari, mintzatu gabe Belari. 
Suzko begiz ene biotz-barna orain zana so; 
Ori ta beste gogoan, garondoa erosoan 
Burko-zorro amuskoan, t 'argontzia gar-jario 
Burko-zorro amusko ori ez bai'du estutuko 
Ark, ai, iñoiz ez geio!

Aidea egin zan gaitsu, nola ixuriz intsentsu 
Serapin batek, ibilki ez ikuskor, geldiro. 
“Gaixo au”, nion, “Jaunak, maitez, bere gotzonen bitartez 
Bialtzen dik epe, nepentez ire Lenor azteko; 
Nepentez ona, oi, edak, Lenor galdua azteko!” 
Belak:” Iñoiz ez geio.” 

“Azti!” esan nun, “gaiztakin! azti bai, txori naiz gaizkin! 
Biok degun Jauna-gatik, Ortze goian bai-dago - 
Esak mindun oni bertan, donokiko baratzetan, 
Neska guren bat besotan ote dun tinkatuko- 
Neska bakar dizdikor bat Lenor gotzonentzako.” 
Belak:” Iñoiz ez geio.” 

“Ele au bedi azkena, nik izuz, -txori-txerrena! 
Ekaitzerat itzul adi plutondar erkiraño! 
Egatx baltzik ez utz emen ire gezurren oroimen! 
Nerau laga nazak emen! - utzak ate-gañeko 
Irudia! Biotzetik ken zadak ire moko!” 
Belak:”Iñoiz ez geio.” 

Baita Bela mugitzeke, beti dauke, beti dauke 
Pallas-irudi laruan nire ate-gañeko; 
Amesle, begik ditula debru batenak bezala, 
Goitik argiak itzala lurrerat egozten dio: 
Itzal ikara ortatik gogoak aldegingo. 
Ez dit -iñoiz ez geio!

Itzuli