But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we,
  Of many far wiser than we;
And neither the angels in heayen above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee,
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 
And so, all the night-tide I lie down by the side

Of my darling, my darling, my life, and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea,
  In her tomb by the sounding sea.

EDGAR ALLAN FOE.

THY BRAES WERE BONNY.

Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream! 
  When first on them I met my lover;
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream! 
  When now thy waves his body cover.

Forever now, O Yarrow stream! 
  Thou art to me a stream of sorrow;
For never on thy banks shall I
  Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow.

He promised me a milk-white steed,
  To bear me to his father’s bowers;
He promised me a little page,
  To ’squire me to his father’s towers;
He promised me a wedding-ring,—­
   The wedding-day was fixed to-morrow;
Now he is wedded to his grave,
   Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow!

Sweet were his words when last we met;
   My passion I as freely told him! 
Clasped in his arms, I little thought
   That I should nevermore behold him! 
Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost;
   It vanished with a shriek of sorrow;
Thrice did the water-wraith ascend,
   And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow.

His mother from the window looked
   With all the longing of a mother;
His little sister weeping walked
   The greenwood path to meet her brother. 
They sought him east, they sought him west,
   They sought him all the forest thorough,
They only saw the cloud of night,
   They only heard the roar of Yarrow!

No longer from thy window look,
   Thou hast no son, thou tender mother! 
No longer walk, thou lovely maid;
   Alas, thou hast no more a brother! 
No longer seek him east or west,
   And search no more the forest thorough;
For, wandering in the night so dark,
   He fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow.

The tear shall never leave my cheek,
   No other youth shall be my marrow;
I’ll seek thy body in the stream,
  And then with thee I’ll sleep in Yarrow.

JOHN LOGAN.

FAREWELL TO THEE, ARABY’S DAUGHTER.

     FROM “THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.”

Farewell,—­farewell to thee, Araby’s daughter! 
  (Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea;)
No pearl ever lay under Oman’s green water
  More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee.