The Raven

I just wanted to let everyone know that there has been an extension on getting your Mr. Lynch stories to his wife and daughter. You now have until May 31st to get the stories in. Please send them to:

mr.lynch.stories (AT) gmail.com

Please note that I changed the @ symbol to (AT) to prevent spambots from picking up that address. A lot of great stories for Mr. Lynch have been submitted and so don't hesitate to share your story with him. It's bound to put a smile on his face, something he did for us many times at Bishop O'Reilly.

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Since I'm talking about Mr. Lynch, I have included a special literary treat for you today. I kept coming across references to Edgar Alan Poe recently. I even spoke with a woman whose name was Eleanore, who, because of my preoccupation with these numerous reference to Poe, I accidentally called 'Lenore'. Oops. ;-)

Whenever I think of Edgar Alan Poe, I always think of the song, "The Raven" by The Glass Prism. I don't know if you're aware of it, but all the members of the Glass Prism were from Northeastern PA. I found the Glass Prism's website on the Internet where you can download The Raven for free (in wma audio format) along with some of their other songs. It was a real walk down memory lane for me. Hopefully, it will be like that for you too.

The website contains the history about the band which makes for interesting reading.



And while you're listening to the song, please note I've taken the liberty to post the verses that contained the lyrics below. They were written over 160 years ago, so that puts them in public domain. Enjoy!

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Play The Raven by The Glass Prism



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 visiter," 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 tried 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.

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 an instant 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 and 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."