Once upon a mid-night dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, a thought occurred my mind entrapping,
My interest gently sapping, I knew I needed something more,
«If only I'd a tome exciting, t'would never be a bore--
If only this and nothing more.»

«Listen my children and you shall hear
Of murder most foul and unspeakable fear,
A brother's betrayal and a sinister plot,
A young man's heart as black as rot;
Mine own severed as if cleaved by spear.»