solutions for vigenere
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1
vigenere/1-de-key.txt
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vigenere/1-de-key.txt
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goethe
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110
vigenere/1-de-plain.txt
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vigenere/1-de-plain.txt
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Hat der alte Hexenmeister
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Sich doch einmal wegbegeben!
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Und nun sollen seine Geister
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Auch nach meinem Willen leben.
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Seine Wort' und Werke
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Merkt ich und den Brauch,
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Und mit Geistesstärke
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Tu' ich Wunder auch.
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Walle! walle
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Manche Strecke,
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Dass, zum Zwecke,
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Wasser fliesse,
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Und mit reichem, vollem Schwalle
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Zu dem Bade sich ergiesse.
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Und nun komm, du alter Besen!
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Nimm die schlechten Lumpenhuellen!
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Bist schon lange Knecht gewesen;
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Nun erfuelle meinen Willen!
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Auf zwei Beinen stehe,
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Oben sei ein Kopf!
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Eile nun und gehe
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Mit dem Wassertopf!
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Walle! walle
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Manche Strecke,
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Dass, zum Zwecke,
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Wasser fliesse
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Und mit reichem, vollem Schwalle
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Zu dem Bade sich ergiesse.
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Seht, er laeuft zum Ufer nieder;
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Wahrlich! ist schon an dem Flusse,
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Und mit Blitzesschnelle wieder
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Ist er hier mit raschem Gusse.
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Schon zum zweiten Male!
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Wie das Becken schwillt!
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Wie sich jede Schale
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Voll mit Wasser fuellt!
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Stehe! stehe!
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Denn wir haben
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Deiner Gaben
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Vollgemessen! -
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Ach, ich merk es! Wehe! wehe!
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Hab ich doch das Wort vergessen!
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Ach, das Wort, worauf am Ende
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Er das wird, was er gewesen.
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Ach, er läuft und bringt behende!
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Waerst du doch der alte Besen!
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Immer neue Guesse
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Bringt er schnell herein,
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Ach! und hundert Fluesse
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Stuerzen auf mich ein.
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Nein, nicht laenger
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Kann ich's lassen;
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Will ihn fassen.
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Das ist Tuecke!
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Ach! nun wird mir immer baenger!
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Welche Miene! welche Blicke!
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O du Ausgeburt der Hoelle!
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Soll das ganze Haus ersaufen?
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Seh ich ueber jede Schwelle
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Doch schon Wasserstroeme laufen.
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Ein verruchter Besen,
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Der nicht hoeren will!
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Stock, der du gewesen,
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Steh doch wieder still!
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Willst's am Ende
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Gar nicht lassen?
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Will dich fassen,
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Will dich halten
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Und das alte Holz behende
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Mit dem scharfen Beile spalten.
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Seht, da kommt er schleppend wieder!
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Wie ich mich nur auf dich werfe,
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Gleich, o Kobold, liegst du nieder;
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Krachend trifft die glatte Schaerfe.
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Wahrlich! brav getroffen!
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Seht, er ist entzwei!
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Und nun kann ich hoffen,
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Und ich atme frei!
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Wehe! wehe!
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Beide Teile
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Stehn in Eile
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Schon als Knechte
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Voellig fertig in die Hoehe!
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nd sie laufen! Nass und naesser
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ird's im Saal und auf den Stufen.
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elch entsetzliches Gewaesser!
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Herr und Meister! hoer mich rufen! -
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Ach, da kommt der Meister!
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Herr, die Not ist gross!
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Die ich rief, die Geister,
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Werd ich nun nicht los.
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"In die Ecke,
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Besen! Besen!
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Seid's gewesen.
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Denn als Geister
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Ruft euch nur, zu seinem Zwecke
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Erst hervor der alte Meister."
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1
vigenere/1-en-key.txt
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vigenere/1-en-key.txt
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imaginaerraum
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125
vigenere/1-en-plain.txt
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vigenere/1-en-plain.txt
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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
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Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
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While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
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As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
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“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
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Only this and nothing more.”
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Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
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And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
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Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
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From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
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For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
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Nameless here for evermore.
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And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
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Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
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So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
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“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
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Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
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This it is and nothing more.”
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Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
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“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
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But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
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And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
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That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
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Darkness there and nothing more.
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Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
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Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
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But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
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And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
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This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
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Merely this and nothing more.
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Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
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Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
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“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
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Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
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Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
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’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
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Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
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In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
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Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
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But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
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Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
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Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
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Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
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By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
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“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
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Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
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Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
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Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
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Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
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For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
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Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
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Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
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With such name as “Nevermore.”
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But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
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That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
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Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
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Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
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On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
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Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
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Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
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“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
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Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
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Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
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Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
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Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
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But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
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Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
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Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
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Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
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What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
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Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
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This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
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To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
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This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
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On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
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But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
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She shall press, ah, nevermore!
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Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
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Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
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“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
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Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
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Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
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“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
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Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
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Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
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On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
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Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
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“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
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By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
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Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
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It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
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Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
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“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
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“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
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Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
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Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
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Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
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And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
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On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
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And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
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And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
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And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
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Shall be lifted—nevermore!
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1
vigenere/2-de-key.txt
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vigenere/2-de-key.txt
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theodorfontane
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48
vigenere/2-de-plain.txt
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vigenere/2-de-plain.txt
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Herr von Ribbeck auf Ribbeck im Havelland,
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Ein Birnbaum in seinem Garten stand,
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Und kam die goldene Herbsteszeit
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Und die Birnen leuchteten weit und breit,
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Da stopfte, wenn's Mittag vom Turme scholl,
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Der von Ribbeck sich beide Taschen voll,
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Und kam in Pantinen ein Junge daher,
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So rief er: "Junge, wiste 'ne Beer?"
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Und kam ein Maedel, so rief er: "Luett Dirn,
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Kumm man roewer, ick hebb 'ne Birn."
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So ging es viel Jahre, bis lobesam
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Der von Ribbeck auf Ribbeck zu sterben kam.
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Er fuehlte sein Ende. 's war Herbsteszeit,
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Wieder lachten die Birnen weit und breit;
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Da sagte von Ribbeck: "Ich scheide nun ab.
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Legt mir eine Birne mit ins Grab."
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Und drei Tage drauf, aus dem Doppeldachhaus,
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Trugen von Ribbeck sie hinaus,
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Alle Bauern und Buedner mit Feiergesicht
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Sangen "Jesus meine Zuversicht",
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Und die Kinder klagten, das Herze schwer:
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"He is dod nu. Wer giwt uns nu 'ne Beer?"
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So klagten die Kinder. Das war nicht recht -
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Ach, sie kannten den alten Ribbeck schlecht;
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Der neue freilich, der knausert und spart,
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Haelt Park und Birnbaum strenge verwahrt.
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Aber der alte, vorahnend schon
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Und voll Misstraun gegen den eigenen Sohn,
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Der wusste genau, was damals er tat,
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Als um eine Birn' ins Grab er bat,
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Und im dritten Jahr aus dem stillen Haus
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Ein Birnbaumsproessling sprosst heraus.
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Und die Jahre gingen wohl auf und ab,
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Laengst woelbt sich ein Birnbaum ueber dem Grab,
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Und in der goldenen Herbsteszeit
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Leuchtet's wieder weit und breit.
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Und kommt ein Jung' uebern Kirchhof her,
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So fluestert's im Baume: "Wiste 'ne Beer?"
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Und kommt ein Maedel, so fluestert's: "Luett Dirn,
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Kumm man roewer, ick gew' di 'ne Birn."
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So spendet Segen noch immer die Hand
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Des von Ribbeck auf Ribbeck im Havelland.
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23
vigenere/2-en-plain.txt
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vigenere/2-en-plain.txt
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Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
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And sorry I could not travel both
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And be one traveler, long I stood
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And looked down one as far as I could
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To where it bent in the undergrowth;
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Then took the other, as just as fair,
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And having perhaps the better claim,
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Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
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Though as for that the passing there
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Had worn them really about the same,
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And both that morning equally lay
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In leaves no step had trodden black.
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Oh, I kept the first for another day!
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Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
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I doubted if I should ever come back.
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I shall be telling this with a sigh
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Somewhere ages and ages hence:
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Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
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I took the one less traveled by,
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And that has made all the difference.
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1
vigenere/2-key.txt
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1
vigenere/2-key.txt
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MEINSCHATZ
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1
vigenere/2-plain.txt
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1
vigenere/2-plain.txt
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In einem Loch im Boden, da lebte ein Hobbit. Nicht in einem feuchten, schmutzigen Loch, wo es nach Moder riecht und Wurmzipfel von den Waenden herabhaengen, und auch nicht in einer trockenen, kahlen Sandgrube ohne Tische und Stuehle, wo man sich zum Essen hinsetzen koennte: nein, das Loch war eine Hobbithoehle, und das heisst, es war sehr komfortabel.
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1
vigenere/3-de-key.txt
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1
vigenere/3-de-key.txt
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paradox
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19
vigenere/3-de-plain.txt
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19
vigenere/3-de-plain.txt
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Dunkel war’s, der Mond schien helle,
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schneebedeckt die gruene Flur,
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als ein Wagen blitzesschnelle,
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langsam um die Ecke fuhr.
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Drinnen sassen stehend Leute,
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schweigend ins Gespraech vertieft,
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als ein totgeschoss’ner Hase
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auf der Sandbank Schlittschuh lief.
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Und ein blondgelockter Juengling
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mit kohlrabenschwarzem Haar
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sass auf einer gruenen Kiste,
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die rot angestrichen war.
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Neben ihm ’ne alte Schrulle,
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zaehlte kaum erst sechzehn Jahr,
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in der Hand ’ne Butterstulle,
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die mit Schmalz bestrichen war.
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20
vigenere/frost.txt
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vigenere/frost.txt
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Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
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And sorry I could not travel both
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And be one traveler long I stood
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And looked down one as far as I could
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To where it bent in the undergrowth
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Then took the other as just as fair
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And having perhaps the better claim
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Because it was grassy and wanted wear
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Though as for that the passing there
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Had worn them really about the same
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And both that morning equally lay
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In leaves no step had trodden black
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Oh I kept the first for another day
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Yet knowing how way leads on to way
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I doubted if I should ever come back
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I shall be telling this with a sigh
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Somewhere ages and ages hence
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Two roads diverged in a wood and I
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I took the one less traveled by
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And that has made all the difference
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19
vigenere/frost_cipher.txt
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19
vigenere/frost_cipher.txt
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Ync jhfug vbavfyxi zb s rjczgp bfcv
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Tsu ggkwp W uhzcr fhy kfsojc pgmm
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Rbv uj fbw mwrjweji zggl Z glhtu
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Ofw qfccxi ucog tes sl krf sl N tcmei
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Kc oajis am gvbl bs kvw nsusjzwfkla
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Yysf mtfy laj fhzxw rg bnxk ok yfzf
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Sgi yonbsx dwkmrdk mmv pwmyvf uefza
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Txhrikx nk ksl liokld rbv pfehww bvoj
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Mmfiya fj tgk yyol mmv dslxzby mmvfw
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Sgi scla yyol ftibagl vemtqcm dtd
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Zb dxfmsk gt jhwi mrr lkturwg gcoud
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Ty W cxuk hzx kzfkm kff sgtkvwk irm
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Qxy bbgpneu zhb noq ejrrk hs kc otd
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Z rgngksv bk Z gzhzcr woji qgfj soud
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N jvseq ss lxqcwfz yywk pnkv s lnxv
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Khrvkzxwv oyxx rbv tlvg zxsts
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Lpt icswx uwnxwxsv bs r kghi rbv B
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N kcgd yys ggj cskl yionxqvr tr
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Fer lafk vsl rrrw tqc hzx iztxxwvbux
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1
vigenere/voucher-key.txt
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1
vigenere/voucher-key.txt
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mate
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28
vigenere/voucher-plain.txt
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vigenere/voucher-plain.txt
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Yippie! This time to get your voucher I want to know the keyword that was used to encrypt the first english message. If you can tell me the correct keyword, you get another Mate or some sweets. To make decryption of this message easier, here is another poem:
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|
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O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
|
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The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
|
||||
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
|
||||
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
|
||||
But O heart! heart! heart!
|
||||
O the bleeding drops of red,
|
||||
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
|
||||
Fallen cold and dead.
|
||||
|
||||
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
|
||||
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
|
||||
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
|
||||
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
|
||||
Here Captain! dear father!
|
||||
This arm beneath your head!
|
||||
It is some dream that on the deck,
|
||||
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
|
||||
|
||||
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
|
||||
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
|
||||
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
|
||||
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
|
||||
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
|
||||
But I with mournful tread,
|
||||
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
|
||||
Fallen cold and dead.
|
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Reference in New Issue
Block a user