To lose my little household gods,
My wear, my gear, and fishing-rods,
All, all my sacred ends and odds,
That cost at least of pounds a score,—
All to go at one fell swoop,
With tearful eyes I glanced them o’er,
And sadly murmur’d,—“Nevermore.”
6.
Yes, it was the sheriffs man;
Like all his ugly kith and clan—