The audiobook was recorded in English. I am a self-taught voice actor.
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North American (General)Transcript
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voice, acting sample. Take Four. My name is Andy d'Andrea. And this is the raven by Edgar. Allan Poe! 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 someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. Tis some visitor! 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 sought 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 forever more! And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors. Never felt before. So that now to still the beating of my heart I stood repeating. Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door. Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door. This! It is! And nothing more! Presently my soul grew stronger, hesitating. Then, No longer, sir! Said I. Or madam, truly your forgiveness. I implore. But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, and so faintly you came tapping tapping at my chamber door that I scarce was sure I heard you here! I opened wide the door darkness there, and nothing more deep into that darkness, peering long. I stood there wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams, no mortal ever dared to dream before. But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, and the only word there spoken was the whispered word lenore! This! I whispered, and an echo murmured back, the word lenore, merely this, and nothing more. Back into the chamber, turning all my soul within me, burning soon again! I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. Surely, said I, Surely that is something at my window lattice. Let me see then! What there at is! And this mystery! Explore! Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore. Tis the wind, and nothing more 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 a minute stopped, or stayed. He but with main 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 at war! 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 the I Lordly name is on the nights! Plutonium inshore, quoth the raven nevermore much! I marveled, this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, though its answer. Little meaning little relevancy bore, for we cannot help agreeing that no living human being ever yet, was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door! Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door, with such a name as never more! But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust spoke only that one word, as if his soul, in that one word he did outpour nothing farther than he uttered. Not a feather than he fluttered! Till I, scarcely more than muttered other friends have flown before on the morrow! He will leave me, as my hopes have flown before! Then! The bird said Nevermore, startled at the stillness, broken by reply. So aptly spoken, doubtless! Said I. What it utters! Is its only stock and store caught from some unhappy master, whom Unmerciful disaster, followed fast, and followed faster till his songs one burden bore till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore of never nevermore! But the raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling straight! I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door! Then, upon the velvet, sinking! I took myself to linking fancy unto fancy thinking what! This ominous bird of yore! What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore meant in Crow King! Nevermore! This! I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing to the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosoms core! This and more! I sat divining with my head at ease reclining on the cushions, velvet lining, that the lamplight gloated door! But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating! Or she shall press! Ah! Nevermore! Then! Methought! The air grew denser perfumed from an unseen sensor, swung by Seraphim, whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. Wretch! I cried thy God hath lent thee by these angels! He had sent the respite respite, and depend from thy memories of lenore quaff! Oh, quaff! This kind nepenthe! And forget this lost lenore, quoth the raven. Never more prophet! Said I! Thing of evil prophet! Still! If bird or devil, whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, desolate! Yet all undaunted on this desert land! Enchanted on this home by horror! Haunted! Tell me truly, I implore. Is there is there balm in Gilead? Tell me! Tell me I implore, quoth the raven. Nevermore prophet! Said I! Thing of evil prophet! Still, if bird or devil by that heaven that bends above us! By that God! We both adore. Tell this soul with sorrow laden if within the distant Aiden it shall clasp. A sainted maiden, whom the angels named lenore clasp, of rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name lenore quoth the raven! Nevermore! Be that word! Our sign of parting bird or fiend! I shrieked up, starting! Get the back into the tempest! And the night's plutonium inshore! Leave no black plume, as a token of that lie thy soul! Hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken, quit the bust above my door. Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door, quoth the raven Nevermore. And the raven never flitting still is sitting still, is sitting on the pallid bust of pallas just above my chamber door, and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, and the lamp lights or him streaming, throws his shadow on the floor, and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted nevermore! I hope you enjoyed that reading of the raven by Edgar Allan Poe.