A tribute to the masters

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
And the highwayman came riding, riding, up to my chamber door.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently came the rapping,
And so faintly came the tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
The highway man came riding, riding,
The highway man came riding.
Up to my chamber door.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot! Had I heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? I’d have been deaf that I’d not hear!

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In barged a highwayman, a rogue from days of yore.
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
And in at each hip were holstered, rendering his presence bolstered
Rendering his presence bolstered, were the pistols that he bore.

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the foul thing whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
Quoth the rogue “I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall have your gold before the morning light;
Yet, if you press me sharply, and harry me with delay,
Then my vengeance will come riding,
Hand to god, it will come riding, and there will be no hiding
Behind your chamber door”

`Be those words our sign of parting, friend or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!'
He tied me up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
he bound a musket beside me, with the barrel beneath my breast!

Said he “Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore –
For truly, if you’re of any status, you should have some apparatus
You should have some apparatus
For which your life be traded for”
Much I marveled this ungainly rogue to hear discourse so plainly,
for he threatened inhumanely, and chilled me to the core;
“True, I have some apparatus- ‘tis the pallid bust of Pallas,"
And the callous rogue forsook his malice, glancing at the bust of Pallas,
The entrancing bust of Pallas, 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;
Yet he knelt me at the casement, with the musket at my side!
he cocked his pistols sharply, and then straight at me he eyed.
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For I could see, with his departure,
My death would coincide.

I twisted my hands behind me; but all the knots held good!
I writhed my hands till my fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient knave in wandering from the nightly shore –“
This I whispered, and the echoing silence was harsher than a roar-
…and I heard the tell-tale priming of the pistols that he wore.

I stretched and strained in the darkness, and the seconds crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! And touched I, had all my fears.

He turned and spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the inferno smoking behind him; his pistols brandished in reply!

My eyes grew wide for a moment! I drew one last deep breath,
 Then my finger moved in the moonlight,
 and his pistol shattered the moonlight,
We shattered the air and the moonlight replaced it veiled in death.


Oh somewhere in this favoured land,
The sun is shining bright.
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And, somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout.
But there is no joy on this day,
For Down like a dog in my way,
He lay in his blood in my chalet, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!