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diff --git a/10031-0.txt b/10031-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dc6cf86 --- /dev/null +++ b/10031-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9941 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10031 *** + + The Complete Poetical Works + of Edgar Allan Poe + + + edited by + + John H. Ingram + + + + +PREFACE. + + +In placing before the public this collection of Edgar Poe's poetical +works, it is requisite to point out in what respects it differs from, +and is superior to, the numerous collections which have preceded it. +Until recently, all editions, whether American or English, of Poe's +poems have been 'verbatim' reprints of the first posthumous collection, +published at New York in 1850. + +In 1874 I began drawing attention to the fact that unknown and +unreprinted poetry by Edgar Poe was in existence. Most, if not all, of +the specimens issued in my articles have since been reprinted by +different editors and publishers, but the present is the first occasion +on which all the pieces referred to have been garnered into one sheaf. +Besides the poems thus alluded to, this volume will be found to contain +many additional pieces and extra stanzas, nowhere else published or +included in Poe's works. Such verses have been gathered from printed or +manuscript sources during a research extending over many years. + +In addition to the new poetical matter included in this volume, +attention should, also, be solicited on behalf of the notes, which will +be found to contain much matter, interesting both from biographical and +bibliographical points of view. + +JOHN H. INGRAM. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +MEMOIR + +POEMS OF LATER LIFE: + Dedication + Preface + The Raven + The Bells + Ulalume + To Helen + Annabel Lee + A Valentine + An Enigma + To my Mother + For Annie + To F---- + To Frances S. Osgood + Eldorado + Eulalie + A Dream within a Dream + To Marie Louise (Shew) + To the Same + The City in the Sea + The Sleeper, + Bridal Ballad +Notes + +POEMS OF MANHOOD: + Lenore + To one in Paradise + The Coliseum + The Haunted Palace + The Conqueror Worm + Silence + Dreamland + To Zante + Hymn +Notes + +SCENES FROM "POLITIAN" +Note + +POEMS OF YOUTH: + Introduction (1831) + To Science + Al Aaraaf + Tamerlane + To Helen + The Valley of Unrest + Israfel + To----("I heed not that my earthly lot") + To----("The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see") + To the River---- + Song + Spirits of the Dead + A Dream + Romance + Fairyland + The Lake + Evening Star + Imitation + "The Happiest Day," + Hymn. Translation from the Greek + Dreams + "In Youth I have known one" + A Pæan +Notes + +DOUBTFUL POEMS: + Alone + To Isadore + The Village Street + The Forest Reverie +Notes + +PROSE POEMS: + The Island of the Fay + The Power of Words + The Colloquy of Monos and Una + The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion + Shadow--A Parable + Silence--A Fable + +ESSAYS: + The Poetic Principle + The Philosophy of Composition + Old English Poetry + + + + + +MEMOIR OF EDGAR ALLAN POE. + + +During the last few years every incident in the life of Edgar Poe has +been subjected to microscopic investigation. The result has not been +altogether satisfactory. On the one hand, envy and prejudice have +magnified every blemish of his character into crime, whilst on the +other, blind admiration would depict him as far "too good for human +nature's daily food." Let us endeavor to judge him impartially, granting +that he was as a mortal subject to the ordinary weaknesses of mortality, +but that he was tempted sorely, treated badly, and suffered deeply. + +The poet's ancestry and parentage are chiefly interesting as explaining +some of the complexities of his character. His father, David Poe, was of +Anglo-Irish extraction. Educated for the Bar, he elected to abandon it +for the stage. In one of his tours through the chief towns of the United +States he met and married a young actress, Elizabeth Arnold, member of +an English family distinguished for its musical talents. As an actress, +Elizabeth Poe acquired some reputation, but became even better known for +her domestic virtues. In those days the United States afforded little +scope for dramatic energy, so it is not surprising to find that when her +husband died, after a few years of married life, the young widow had a +vain struggle to maintain herself and three little ones, William Henry, +Edgar, and Rosalie. Before her premature death, in December, 1811, the +poet's mother had been reduced to the dire necessity of living on the +charity of her neighbors. + +Edgar, the second child of David and Elizabeth Poe, was born at Boston, +in the United States, on the 19th of January, 1809. Upon his mother's +death at Richmond, Virginia, Edgar was adopted by a wealthy Scotch +merchant, John Allan. Mr. Allan, who had married an American lady and +settled in Virginia, was childless. He therefore took naturally to the +brilliant and beautiful little boy, treated him as his son, and made him +take his own surname. Edgar Allan, as he was now styled, after some +elementary tuition in Richmond, was taken to England by his adopted +parents, and, in 1816, placed at the Manor House School, +Stoke-Newington. + +Under the Rev. Dr. Bransby, the future poet spent a lustrum of his life +neither unprofitably nor, apparently, ungenially. Dr. Bransby, who is +himself so quaintly portrayed in Poe's tale of 'William Wilson', +described "Edgar Allan," by which name only he knew the lad, as "a quick +and clever boy," who "would have been a very good boy had he not been +spoilt by his parents," meaning, of course, the Allans. They "allowed +him an extravagant amount of pocket-money, which enabled him to get into +all manner of mischief. Still I liked the boy," added the tutor, "but, +poor fellow, his parents spoiled him." + +Poe has described some aspects of his school days in his oft cited story +of 'William Wilson'. Probably there is the usual amount of poetic +exaggeration in these reminiscences, but they are almost the only record +we have of that portion of his career and, therefore, apart from their +literary merits, are on that account deeply interesting. The description +of the sleepy old London suburb, as it was in those days, is remarkably +accurate, but the revisions which the story of 'William Wilson' went +through before it reached its present perfect state caused many of the +author's details to deviate widely from their original correctness. His +schoolhouse in the earliest draft was truthfully described as an "old, +irregular, and cottage-built" dwelling, and so it remained until its +destruction a few years ago. + +The 'soi-disant' William Wilson, referring to those bygone happy days +spent in the English academy, says, + + "The teeming brain of childhood requires no external world of incident + to occupy or amuse it. The morning's awakening, the nightly summons to + bed; the connings, the recitations, the periodical half-holidays and + perambulations, the playground, with its broils, its pastimes, its + intrigues--these, by a mental sorcery long forgotten, were made to + involve a wilderness of sensation, a world of rich incident, a + universe of varied emotion, of excitement the most passionate and + spirit-stirring, _'Oh, le bon temps, que ce siècle de fer!'"_ + +From this world of boyish imagination Poe was called to his adopted +parents' home in the United States. He returned to America in 1821, and +was speedily placed in an academy in Richmond, Virginia, in which city +the Allans continued to reside. Already well grounded in the elementary +processes of education, not without reputation on account of his +European residence, handsome, proud, and regarded as the heir of a +wealthy man, Poe must have been looked up to with no little respect by +his fellow pupils. He speedily made himself a prominent position in the +school, not only by his classical attainments, but by his athletic +feats--accomplishments calculated to render him a leader among lads. + + "In the simple school athletics of those days, when a gymnasium had + not been heard of, he was 'facile princeps'," + +is the reminiscence of his fellow pupil, Colonel T. L. Preston. Poe he +remembers as + + "a swift runner, a wonderful leaper, and, what was more rare, a boxer, + with some slight training.... He would allow the strongest boy in the + school to strike him with full force in the chest. He taught me the + secret, and I imitated him, after my measure. It was to inflate the + lungs to the uttermost, and at the moment of receiving the blow to + exhale the air. It looked surprising, and was, indeed, a little rough; + but with a good breast-bone, and some resolution, it was not difficult + to stand it. For swimming he was noted, being in many of his athletic + proclivities surprisingly like Byron in his youth." + +In one of his feats Poe only came off second best. + + "A challenge to a foot race," says Colonel Preston, "had been passed + between the two classical schools of the city; we selected Poe as our + champion. The race came off one bright May morning at sunrise, in the + Capitol Square. Historical truth compels me to add that on this + occasion our school was beaten, and we had to pay up our small bets. + Poe ran well, but his competitor was a long-legged, Indian-looking + fellow, who would have outstripped Atalanta without the help of the + golden apples." + + "In our Latin exercises in school," continues the colonel, "Poe was + among the first--not first without dispute. We had competitors who + fairly disputed the palm, especially one, Nat Howard, afterwards known + as one of the ripest scholars in Virginia, and distinguished also as a + profound lawyer. If Howard was less brilliant than Poe, he was far + more studious; for even then the germs of waywardness were developing + in the nascent poet, and even then no inconsiderable portion of his + time was given to versifying. But if I put Howard as a Latinist on a + level with Poe, I do him full justice." + + "Poe," says the colonel, "was very fond of the Odes of Horace, and + repeated them so often in my hearing that I learned by sound the words + of many before I understood their meaning. In the lilting rhythm of + the Sapphics and Iambics, his ear, as yet untutored in more + complicated harmonies, took special delight. Two odes, in particular, + have been humming in my ear all my life since, set to the tune of his + recitation: + + _'Jam satis terris nivis atque dirce + Grandinis misit Pater, et rubente,'_ + + And + + _'Non ebur neque aureum + Mea renidet in dono lacu ar,_' etc. + + "I remember that Poe was also a very fine French scholar. Yet, with + all his superiorities, he was not the master spirit nor even the + favorite of the school. I assign, from my recollection, this place to + Howard. Poe, as I recall my impressions now, was self-willed, + capricious, inclined to be imperious, and, though of generous + impulses, not steadily kind, nor even amiable; and so what he would + exact was refused to him. I add another thing which had its influence, + I am sure. At the time of which I speak, Richmond was one of the most + aristocratic cities on this side of the Atlantic.... A school is, of + its nature, democratic; but still boys will unconsciously bear about + the odor of their fathers' notions, good or bad. Of Edgar Poe," who + had then resumed his parental cognomen, "it was known that his parents + had been players, and that he was dependent upon the bounty that is + bestowed upon an adopted son. All this had the effect of making the + boys decline his leadership; and, on looking back on it since, I fancy + it gave him a fierceness he would otherwise not have had." + +This last paragraph of Colonel Preston's recollections cast a suggestive +light upon the causes which rendered unhappy the lad's early life and +tended to blight his prospective hopes. Although mixing with members of +the best families of the province, and naturally endowed with hereditary +and native pride,--fostered by the indulgence of wealth and the +consciousness of intellectual superiority,--Edgar Poe was made to feel +that his parentage was obscure, and that he himself was dependent upon +the charity and caprice of an alien by blood. For many lads these things +would have had but little meaning, but to one of Poe's proud temperament +it must have been a source of constant torment, and all allusions to it +gall and wormwood. And Mr. Allan was not the man to wean Poe from such +festering fancies: as a rule he was proud of the handsome and talented +boy, and indulged him in all that wealth could purchase, but at other +times he treated him with contumely, and made him feel the bitterness of +his position. + +Still Poe did maintain his leading position among the scholars at that +Virginian academy, and several still living have favored us with +reminiscences of him. His feats in swimming to which Colonel Preston has +alluded, are quite a feature of his youthful career. Colonel Mayo +records one daring performance in natation which is thoroughly +characteristic of the lad. One day in mid-winter, when standing on the +banks of the James River, Poe dared his comrade into jumping in, in +order to swim to a certain point with him. After floundering about in +the nearly frozen stream for some time, they reached the piles upon +which Mayo's Bridge was then supported, and there attempted to rest and +try to gain the shore by climbing up the log abutment to the bridge. +Upon reaching the bridge, however, they were dismayed to find that its +plank flooring overlapped the abutment by several feet, and that it was +impossible to ascend it. Nothing remained for them but to let go their +slippery hold and swim back to the shore. Poe reached the bank in an +exhausted and benumbed condition, whilst Mayo was rescued by a boat just +as he was succumbing. On getting ashore Poe was seized with a violent +attack of vomiting, and both lads were ill for several weeks. + +Alluding to another quite famous swimming feat of his own, the poet +remarked, "Any 'swimmer in the falls' in my days would have swum the +Hellespont, and thought nothing of the matter. I swam from Ludlam's +Wharf to Warwick (six miles), in a hot June sun, against one of the +strongest tides ever known in the river. It would have been a feat +comparatively easy to swim twenty miles in still water. I would not +think much," Poe added in a strain of exaggeration not unusual with him, +"of attempting to swim the British Channel from Dover to Calais." +Colonel Mayo, who had tried to accompany him in this performance, had to +stop on the way, and says that Poe, when he reached the goal, emerged +from the water with neck, face, and back blistered. The facts of this +feat, which was undertaken for a wager, having been questioned, Poe, +ever intolerant of contradiction, obtained and published the affidavits +of several gentlemen who had witnessed it. They also certified that Poe +did not seem at all fatigued, and that he walked back to Richmond +immediately after the performance. + +The poet is generally remembered at this part of his career to have been +slight in figure and person, but to have been well made, active, sinewy, +and graceful. Despite the fact that he was thus noted among his +schoolfellows and indulged at home, he does not appear to have been in +sympathy with his surroundings. Already dowered with the "hate of hate, +the scorn of scorn," he appears to have made foes both among those who +envied him and those whom, in the pride of intellectuality, he treated +with pugnacious contempt. Beneath the haughty exterior, however, was a +warm and passionate heart, which only needed circumstance to call forth +an almost fanatical intensity of affection. A well-authenticated +instance of this is thus related by Mrs. Whitman: + + "While at the academy in Richmond, he one day accompanied a schoolmate + to his home, where he saw, for the first time, Mrs. Helen Stannard, + the mother of his young friend. This lady, on entering the room, took + his hands and spoke some gentle and gracious words of welcome, which + so penetrated the sensitive heart of the orphan boy as to deprive him + of the power of speech, and for a time almost of consciousness itself. + He returned home in a dream, with but one thought, one hope in life + --to hear again the sweet and gracious words that had made the + desolate world so beautiful to him, and filled his lonely heart with + the oppression of a new joy. This lady afterwards became the confidant + of all his boyish sorrows, and hers was the one redeeming influence + that saved and guided him in the earlier days of his turbulent and + passionate youth." + +When Edgar was unhappy at home, which, says his aunt, Mrs. Clemm, "was +very often the case, he went to Mrs. Stannard for sympathy, for +consolation, and for advice." Unfortunately, the sad fortune which so +frequently thwarted his hopes ended this friendship. The lady was +overwhelmed by a terrible calamity, and at the period when her guiding +voice was most requisite, she fell a prey to mental alienation. She +died, and was entombed in a neighboring cemetery, but her poor boyish +admirer could not endure to think of her lying lonely and forsaken in +her vaulted home, so he would leave the house at night and visit her +tomb. When the nights were drear, "when the autumnal rains fell, and the +winds wailed mournfully over the graves, he lingered longest, and came +away most regretfully." + +The memory of this lady, of this "one idolatrous and purely ideal love" +of his boyhood, was cherished to the last. The name of Helen frequently +recurs in his youthful verses, "The Pæan," now first included in his +poetical works, refers to her; and to her he inscribed the classic and +exquisitely beautiful stanzas beginning "Helen, thy beauty is to me." + +Another important item to be noted in this epoch of his life is that he +was already a poet. Among his schoolfellows he appears to have acquired +some little reputation as a writer of satirical verses; but of his +poetry, of that which, as he declared, had been with him "not a purpose, +but a passion," he probably preserved the secret, especially as we know +that at his adoptive home poesy was a forbidden thing. As early as 1821 +he appears to have essayed various pieces, and some of these were +ultimately included in his first volume. With Poe poetry was a personal +matter--a channel through which the turbulent passions of his heart +found an outlet. With feelings such as were his, it came to pass, as a +matter of course, that the youthful poet fell in love. His first affair +of the heart is, doubtless, reminiscently portrayed in what he says of +his boyish ideal, Byron. This passion, he remarks, "if passion it can +properly be called, was of the most thoroughly romantic, shadowy, and +imaginative character. It was born of the hour, and of the youthful +necessity to love. It had no peculiar regard to the person, or to the +character, or to the reciprocating affection... Any maiden, not +immediately and positively repulsive," he deems would have suited the +occasion of frequent and unrestricted intercourse with such an +imaginative and poetic youth. "The result," he deems, "was not merely +natural, or merely probable; it was as inevitable as destiny itself." + +Between the lines may be read the history of his own love. "The Egeria +of _his_ dreams--the Venus Aphrodite that sprang in full and supernal +loveliness from the bright foam upon the storm-tormented ocean of _his_ +thoughts," was a little girl, Elmira Royster, who lived with her father +in a house opposite to the Allans in Richmond. The young people met +again and again, and the lady, who has only recently passed away, +recalled Edgar as "a beautiful boy," passionately fond of music, +enthusiastic and impulsive, but with prejudices already strongly +developed. A certain amount of love-making took place between the young +people, and Poe, with his usual passionate energy, ere he left home for +the University had persuaded his fair inamorata to engage herself to +him. Poe left home for the University of Virginia, Charlottesville, in +the beginning of 1825. lie wrote frequently to Miss Royster, but her +father did not approve of the affair, and, so the story runs, +intercepted the correspondence, until it ceased. At seventeen, Elmira +became the bride of a Mr. Shelton, and it was not until some time +afterwards that Poe discovered how it was his passionate appeals had +failed to elicit any response from the object of his youthful affection. + +Poe's short university career was in many respects a repetition of his +course at the Richmond Academy. He became noted at Charlottesville both +for his athletic feats and his scholastic successes. He entered as a +student on February 1,1826, and remained till the close of the second +session in December of that year. + + "He entered the schools of ancient and modern languages, attending the + lectures on Latin, Greek, French, Spanish, and Italian. I was a member + of the last three classes," says Mr. William Wertenbaker, the recently + deceased librarian, "and can testify that he was tolerably regular in + his attendance, and a successful student, having obtained distinction + at the final examination in Latin and French, and this was at that + time the highest honor a student could obtain. The present regulations + in regard to degrees had not then been adopted. Under existing + regulations, he would have graduated in the two languages above-named, + and have been entitled to diplomas." + +These statements of Poe's classmate are confirmed by Dr. Harrison, +chairman of the Faculty, who remarks that the poet was a great favorite +with his fellow-students, and was noted for the remarkable rapidity with +which he prepared his recitations and for their accuracy, his +translations from the modern languages being especially noteworthy. + +Several of Poe's classmates at Charlottesville have testified to his +"noble qualities" and other good endowments, but they remember that his +"disposition was rather retiring, and that he had few intimate +associates." Mr. Thomas Boiling, one of his fellow-students who has +favored us with reminiscences of him, says: + + "I was 'acquainted', with him, but that is about all. My impression + was, and is, that no one could say that he 'knew' him. He wore a + melancholy face always, and even his smile--for I do not ever remember + to have seen him laugh--seemed to be forced. When he engaged + sometimes with others in athletic exercises, in which, so far as high + or long jumping, I believe he excelled all the rest, Poe, with the + same ever sad face, appeared to participate in what was amusement to + the others more as a task than sport." + +Poe had no little talent for drawing, and Mr. John Willis states that +the walls of his college rooms were covered with his crayon sketches, +whilst Mr. Boiling mentions, in connection with the poet's artistic +facility, some interesting incidents. The two young men had purchased +copies of a handsomely-illustrated edition of Byron's poems, and upon +visiting Poe a few days after this purchase, Mr. Bolling found him +engaged in copying one of the engravings with crayon upon his dormitory +ceiling. He continued to amuse himself in this way from time to time +until he had filled all the space in his room with life-size figures +which, it is remembered by those who saw them, were highly ornamental +and well executed. + + +As Mr. Bolling talked with his associate, Poe would continue to scribble +away with his pencil, as if writing, and when his visitor jestingly +remonstrated with him on his want of politeness, he replied that he had +been all attention, and proved that he had by suitable comment, +assigning as a reason for his apparent want of courtesy that he was +trying 'to divide his mind,' to carry on a conversation and write +sensibly upon a totally different subject at the same time. + +Mr. Wertenbaker, in his interesting reminiscences of the poet, says: + + "As librarian I had frequent official intercourse with Poe, but it was + at or near the close of the session before I met him in the social + circle. After spending an evening together at a private house he + invited me, on our return, into his room. It was a cold night in + December, and his fire having gone pretty nearly out, by the aid of + some tallow candles, and the fragments of a small table which he broke + up for the purpose, he soon rekindled it, and by its comfortable blaze + I spent a very pleasant hour with him. On this occasion he spoke with + regret of the large amount of money he had wasted, and of the debts he + had contracted during the session. If my memory be not at fault, he + estimated his indebtedness at $2,000 and, though they were gaming + debts, he was earnest and emphatic in the declaration that he was + bound by honor to pay them at the earliest opportunity." + +This appears to have been Poe's last night at the university. He left it +never to return, yet, short as was his sojourn there, he left behind him +such honorable memories that his 'alma mater' is now only too proud to +enrol his name among her most respected sons. Poe's adopted father, +however, did not regard his 'protégé's' collegiate career with equal +pleasure: whatever view he may have entertained of the lad's scholastic +successes, he resolutely refused to discharge the gambling debts which, +like too many of his classmates, he had incurred. A violent altercation +took place between Mr. Allan and the youth, and Poe hastily quitted the +shelter of home to try and make his way in the world alone. + +Taking with him such poems as he had ready, Poe made his way to Boston, +and there looked up some of his mother's old theatrical friends. Whether +he thought of adopting the stage as a profession, or whether he thought +of getting their assistance towards helping him to put a drama of his +own upon the stage,--that dream of all young authors,--is now unknown. +He appears to have wandered about for some time, and by some means or +the other succeeded in getting a little volume of poems printed "for +private circulation only." This was towards the end of 1827, when he was +nearing nineteen. Doubtless Poe expected to dispose of his volume by +subscription among his friends, but copies did not go off, and +ultimately the book was suppressed, and the remainder of the edition, +for "reasons of a private nature," destroyed. + +What happened to the young poet, and how he contrived to exist for the +next year or so, is a mystery still unsolved. It has always been +believed that he found his way to Europe and met with some curious +adventures there, and Poe himself certainly alleged that such was the +case. Numbers of mythical stories have been invented to account for this +chasm in the poet's life, and most of them self-evidently fabulous. In a +recent biography of Poe an attempt had been made to prove that he +enlisted in the army under an assumed name, and served for about +eighteen months in the artillery in a highly creditable manner, +receiving an honorable discharge at the instance of Mr. Allan. This +account is plausible, but will need further explanation of its many +discrepancies of dates, and verification of the different documents +cited in proof of it, before the public can receive it as fact. So many +fables have been published about Poe, and even many fictitious documents +quoted, that it behoves the unprejudiced to be wary in accepting any new +statements concerning him that are not thoroughly authenticated. + +On the 28th February, 1829, Mrs. Allan died, and with her death the +final thread that had bound Poe to her husband was broken. The adopted +son arrived too late to take a last farewell of her whose influence had +given the Allan residence its only claim upon the poet's heart. A kind +of truce was patched up over the grave of the deceased lady, but, for +the future, Poe found that home was home no longer. + +Again the young man turned to poetry, not only as a solace but as a +means of earning a livelihood. Again he printed a little volume of +poems, which included his longest piece, "Al Aaraaf," and several others +now deemed classic. The book was a great advance upon his previous +collection, but failed to obtain any amount of public praise or personal +profit for its author. + +Feeling the difficulty of living by literature at the same time that he +saw he might have to rely largely upon his own exertions for a +livelihood, Poe expressed a wish to enter the army. After no little +difficulty a cadetship was obtained for him at the West Point Military +Academy, a military school in many respects equal to the best in Europe +for the education of officers for the army. At the time Poe entered the +Academy it possessed anything but an attractive character, the +discipline having been of the most severe character, and the +accommodation in many respects unsuitable for growing lads. + +The poet appears to have entered upon this new course of life with his +usual enthusiasm, and for a time to have borne the rigid rules of the +place with unusual steadiness. He entered the institution on the 1st +July, 1830, and by the following March had been expelled for determined +disobedience. Whatever view may be taken of Poe's conduct upon this +occasion, it must be seen that the expulsion from West Point was of his +own seeking. Highly-colored pictures have been drawn of his eccentric +behavior at the Academy, but the fact remains that he wilfully, or at +any rate purposely, flung away his cadetship. It is surmised with +plausibility that the second marriage of Mr. Allan, and his expressed +intention of withdrawing his help and of not endowing or bequeathing +this adopted son any of his property, was the mainspring of Poe's +action. Believing it impossible to continue without aid in a profession +so expensive as was a military life, he determined to relinquish it and +return to his long cherished attempt to become an author. + +Expelled from the institution that afforded board and shelter, and +discarded by his former protector, the unfortunate and penniless young +man yet a third time attempted to get a start in the world of letters by +means of a volume of poetry. If it be true, as alleged, that several of +his brother cadets aided his efforts by subscribing for his little work, +there is some possibility that a few dollars rewarded this latest +venture. Whatever may have resulted from the alleged aid, it is certain +that in a short time after leaving the Military Academy Poe was reduced +to sad straits. He disappeared for nearly two years from public notice, +and how he lived during that period has never been satisfactorily +explained. In 1833 he returns to history in the character of a winner of +a hundred-dollar award offered by a newspaper for the best story. + +The prize was unanimously adjudged to Poe by the adjudicators, and Mr. +Kennedy, an author of some little repute, having become interested by +the young man's evident genius, generously assisted him towards +obtaining a livelihood by literary labor. Through his new friend's +introduction to the proprietor of the 'Southern Literary Messenger', a +moribund magazine published at irregular intervals, Poe became first a +paid contributor, and eventually the editor of the publication, which +ultimately he rendered one of the most respected and profitable +periodicals of the day. This success was entirely due to the brilliancy +and power of Poe's own contributions to the magazine. + +In March, 1834, Mr. Allan died, and if our poet had maintained any hopes +of further assistance from him, all doubt was settled by the will, by +which the whole property of the deceased was left to his second wife and +her three sons. Poe was not named. + +On the 6th May, 1836, Poe, who now had nothing but his pen to trust to, +married his cousin, Virginia Clemm, a child of only fourteen, and with +her mother as housekeeper, started a home of his own. In the meantime +his various writings in the 'Messenger' began to attract attention and +to extend his reputation into literary circles, but beyond his editorial +salary of about $520 brought him no pecuniary reward. + +In January, 1837, for reasons never thoroughly explained, Poe severed +his connection with the 'Messenger', and moved with all his household +goods from Richmond to New York. Southern friends state that Poe was +desirous of either being admitted into partnership with his employer, or +of being allowed a larger share of the profits which his own labors +procured. In New York his earnings seem to have been small and +irregular, his most important work having been a republication from the +'Messenger' in book form of his Defoe-like romance entitled 'Arthur +Gordon Pym'. The truthful air of "The Narrative," as well as its other +merits, excited public curiosity both in England and America; but Poe's +remuneration does not appear to have been proportionate to its success, +nor did he receive anything from the numerous European editions the work +rapidly passed through. + +In 1838 Poe was induced by a literary friend to break up his New York +home and remove with his wife and aunt (her mother) to Philadelphia. The +Quaker city was at that time quite a hotbed for magazine projects, and +among the many new periodicals Poe was enabled to earn some kind of a +living. To Burton's 'Gentleman's Magazine' for 1837 he had contributed a +few articles, but in 1840 he arranged with its proprietor to take up the +editorship. Poe had long sought to start a magazine of his own, and it +was probably with a view to such an eventuality that one of his +conditions for accepting the editorship of the 'Gentleman's Magazine' +was that his name should appear upon the title-page. + +Poe worked hard at the 'Gentleman's' for some time, contributing to its +columns much of his best work; ultimately, however, he came to +loggerheads with its proprietor, Burton, who disposed of the magazine to +a Mr. Graham, a rival publisher. At this period Poe collected into two +volumes, and got them published as 'Tales of the Grotesque and +Arabesques', twenty-five of his stories, but he never received any +remuneration, save a few copies of the volumes, for the work. For some +time the poet strove most earnestly to start a magazine of his own, but +all his efforts failed owing to his want of capital. + +The purchaser of Burton's magazine, having amalgamated it with another, +issued the two under the title of 'Graham's Magazine'. Poe became a +contributor to the new venture, and in November of the year 1840 +consented to assume the post of editor. + +Under Poe's management, assisted by the liberality of Mr. Graham, +'Graham's Magazine' became a grand success. To its pages Poe contributed +some of his finest and most popular tales, and attracted to the +publication the pens of many of the best contemporary authors. The +public was not slow in showing its appreciation of 'pabulum' put before +it, and, so its directors averred, in less than two years the +circulation rose from five to fifty-two thousand copies. + +A great deal of this success was due to Poe's weird and wonderful +stories; still more, perhaps, to his trenchant critiques and his +startling theories anent cryptology. As regards the tales now issued in +'Graham's', attention may especially be drawn to the world-famed +"Murders in the Rue Morgue," the first of a series--'"une espèce de +trilogie,"' as Baudelaire styles them--illustrative of an analytic phase +of Poe's peculiar mind. This 'trilogie' of tales, of which the later two +were "The Purloined Letter" and "The Mystery of Marie Roget," was +avowedly written to prove the capability of solving the puzzling riddles +of life by identifying another person's mind by our own. By trying to +follow the processes by which a person would reason out a certain thing, +Poe propounded the theory that another person might ultimately arrive, +as it were, at that person's conclusions, indeed, penetrate the +innermost arcanum of his brain and read his most secret thoughts. Whilst +the public was still pondering over the startling proposition, and +enjoying perusal of its apparent proofs, Poe still further increased his +popularity and drew attention to his works by putting forward the +attractive but less dangerous theorem that "human ingenuity could not +construct a cipher which human ingenuity could not solve." + +This cryptographic assertion was made in connection with what the public +deemed a challenge, and Poe was inundated with ciphers more or less +abstruse, demanding solution. In the correspondence which ensued in +'Graham's Magazine' and other publications, Poe was universally +acknowledged to have proved his case, so far as his own personal ability +to unriddle such mysteries was concerned. Although he had never offered +to undertake such a task, he triumphantly solved every cryptogram sent +to him, with one exception, and that exception he proved conclusively +was only an imposture, for which no solution was possible. + +The outcome of this exhaustive and unprofitable labor was the +fascinating story of "The Gold Bug," a story in which the discovery of +hidden treasure is brought about by the unriddling of an intricate +cipher. + +The year 1841 may be deemed the brightest of Poe's checkered career. On +every side acknowledged to be a new and brilliant literary light, chief +editor of a powerful magazine, admired, feared, and envied, with a +reputation already spreading rapidly in Europe as well as in his native +continent, the poet might well have hoped for prosperity and happiness. +But dark cankers were gnawing his heart. His pecuniary position was +still embarrassing. His writings, which were the result of slow and +careful labor, were poorly paid, and his remuneration as joint editor of +'Graham's' was small. He was not permitted to have undivided control, +and but a slight share of the profits of the magazine he had rendered +world-famous, whilst a fearful domestic calamity wrecked all his hopes, +and caused him to resort to that refuge of the broken-hearted--to that +drink which finally destroyed his prospects and his life. + +Edgar Poe's own account of this terrible malady and its cause was made +towards the end of his career. Its truth has never been disproved, and +in its most important points it has been thoroughly substantiated. To a +correspondent he writes in January 1848: + + "You say, 'Can you _hint_ to me what was "that terrible evil" which + caused the "irregularities" so profoundly lamented?' Yes, I can do more + than hint. This _evil_ was the greatest which can befall a man. Six + years ago, a wife whom I loved as no man ever loved before, ruptured a + blood-vessel in singing. Her life was despaired of. I took leave of + her forever, and underwent all the agonies of her death. She recovered + partially, and I again hoped. At the end of a year, the vessel broke + again. I went through precisely the same scene.... Then again--again-- + and even once again at varying intervals. Each time I felt all the + agonies of her death--and at each accession of the disorder I loved + her more dearly and clung to her life with more desperate pertinacity. + But I am constitutionally sensitive--nervous in a very unusual degree. + I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity. During these + fits of absolute unconsciousness, I drank--God only knows how often or + how much. As a matter of course, my enemies referred the insanity to + the drink rather than the drink to the insanity. I had, indeed, nearly + abandoned all hope of a permanent cure, when I found one in the + _death_ of my wife. This I can and do endure as becomes a man. It was + the horrible never-ending oscillation between hope and despair which I + could _not_ longer have endured, without total loss of reason." + +The poet at this period was residing in a small but elegant little home, +superintended by his ever-faithful guardian, his wife's mother--his own +aunt, Mrs. Clemm, the lady whom he so gratefully addressed in after +years in the well-known sonnet, as "more than mother unto me." But a +change came o'er the spirit of his dream! His severance from 'Graham's', +owing to we know not what causes, took place, and his fragile schemes of +happiness faded as fast as the sunset. His means melted away, and he +became unfitted by mental trouble and ill-health to earn more. The +terrible straits to which he and his unfortunate beloved ones were +reduced may be comprehended after perusal of these words from Mr. A. B. +Harris's reminiscences. + +Referring to the poet's residence in Spring Gardens, Philadelphia, this +writer says: + + "It was during their stay there that Mrs. Poe, while singing one + evening, ruptured a blood-vessel, and after that she suffered a + hundred deaths. She could not bear the slightest exposure, and needed + the utmost care; and all those conveniences as to apartment and + surroundings which are so important in the case of an invalid were + almost matters of life and death to her. And yet the room where she + lay for weeks, hardly able to breathe, except as she was fanned, was a + little narrow place, with the ceiling so low over the narrow bed that + her head almost touched it. But no one dared to speak, Mr. Poe was so + sensitive and irritable; 'quick as steel and flint,' said one who knew + him in those days. And he would not allow a word about the danger of + her dying: the mention of it drove him wild." + +Is it to be wondered at, should it not indeed be forgiven him, if, +impelled by the anxieties and privations at home, the unfortunate poet, +driven to the brink of madness, plunged still deeper into the Slough of +Despond? Unable to provide for the pressing necessities of his beloved +wife, the distracted man + + "would steal out of the house at night, and go off and wander about + the street for hours, proud, heartsick, despairing, not knowing which + way to turn, or what to do, while Mrs. Clemm would endure the anxiety + at home as long as she could, and then start off in search of him." + +During his calmer moments Poe exerted all his efforts to proceed with +his literary labors. He continued to contribute to 'Graham's Magazine,' +the proprietor of which periodical remained his friend to the end of his +life, and also to some other leading publications of Philadelphia and +New York. A suggestion having been made to him by N. P. Willis, of the +latter city, he determined to once more wander back to it, as he found +it impossible to live upon his literary earnings where he was. + +Accordingly, about the middle of 1845, Poe removed to New York, and +shortly afterwards was engaged by Willis and his partner Morris as +sub-editor on the 'Evening Mirror'. He was, says Willis, + + "employed by us for several months as critic and subeditor.... He + resided with his wife and mother at Fordham, a few miles out of town, + but was at his desk in the office from nine in the morning till the + evening paper went to press. With the highest admiration for his + genius, and a willingness to let it atone for more than ordinary + irregularity, we were led by common report to expect a very capricious + attention to his duties, and occasionally a scene of violence and + difficulty. Time went on, however, and he was invariably punctual and + industrious. With his pale, beautiful, and intellectual face, as a + reminder of what genius was in him, it was impossible, of course, not + to treat him always with deferential courtsey.... With a prospect of + taking the lead in another periodical, he at last voluntarily gave up + his employment with us." + +A few weeks before Poe relinquished his laborious and ill-paid work on +the 'Evening Mirror', his marvellous poem of "The Raven" was published. +The effect was magical. Never before, nor, indeed, ever since, has a +single short poem produced such a great and immediate enthusiasm. It did +more to render its author famous than all his other writings put +together. It made him the literary lion of the season; called into +existence innumerable parodies; was translated into various languages, +and, indeed, created quite a literature of its own. Poe was naturally +delighted with the success his poem had attained, and from time to time +read it in his musical manner in public halls or at literary receptions. +Nevertheless he affected to regard it as a work of art only, and wrote +his essay entitled the "Philosophy of Composition," to prove that it was +merely a mechanical production made in accordance with certain set +rules. + +Although our poet's reputation was now well established, he found it +still a difficult matter to live by his pen. Even when in good health, +he wrote slowly and with fastidious care, and when his work was done had +great difficulty in getting publishers to accept it. Since his death it +has been proved that many months often elapsed before he could get +either his most admired poems or tales published. + +Poe left the 'Evening Mirror' in order to take part in the 'Broadway +Journal', wherein he re-issued from time to time nearly the whole of his +prose and poetry. Ultimately he acquired possession of this periodical, +but, having no funds to carry it on, after a few months of heartbreaking +labor he had to relinquish it. Exhausted in body and mind, the +unfortunate man now retreated with his dying wife and her mother to a +quaint little cottage at Fordham, outside New York. Here after a time +the unfortunate household was reduced to the utmost need, not even +having wherewith to purchase the necessities of life. At this dire +moment, some friendly hand, much to the indignation and dismay of Poe +himself, made an appeal to the public on behalf of the hapless family. + +The appeal had the desired effect. Old friends and new came to the +rescue, and, thanks to them, and especially to Mrs. Shew, the "Marie +Louise" of Poe's later poems, his wife's dying moments were soothed, and +the poet's own immediate wants provided for. In January, 1846, Virginia +Poe died; and for some time after her death the poet remained in an +apathetic stupor, and, indeed, it may be truly said that never again did +his mental faculties appear to regain their former power. + +For another year or so Poe lived quietly at Fordham, guarded by the +watchful care of Mrs. Clemm,--writing little, but thinking out his +philosophical prose poem of "Eureka," which he deemed the crowning work +of his life. His life was as abstemious and regular as his means were +small. Gradually, however, as intercourse with fellow literati +re-aroused his dormant energies, he began to meditate a fresh start in +the world. His old and never thoroughly abandoned project of starting a +magazine of his own, for the enunciation of his own views on literature, +now absorbed all his thoughts. In order to get the necessary funds for +establishing his publication on a solid footing, he determined to give a +series of lectures in various parts of the States. + +His re-entry into public life only involved him in a series of +misfortunes. At one time he was engaged to be married to Mrs. Whitman, a +widow lady of considerable intellectual and literary attainments; but, +after several incidents of a highly romantic character, the match was +broken off. In 1849 Poe revisited the South, and, amid the scenes and +friends of his early life, passed some not altogether unpleasing time. +At Richmond, Virginia, he again met his first love, Elmira, now a +wealthy widow, and, after a short renewed acquaintance, was once more +engaged to marry her. But misfortune continued to dog his steps. + +A publishing affair recalled him to New York. He left Richmond by boat +for Baltimore, at which city he arrived on the 3d October, and handed +his trunk to a porter to carry to the train for Philadelphia. What now +happened has never been clearly explained. Previous to starting on his +journey, Poe had complained of indisposition,--of chilliness and of +exhaustion,--and it is not improbable that an increase or continuance of +these symptoms had tempted him to drink, or to resort to some of those +narcotics he is known to have indulged in towards the close of his life. +Whatever the cause of his delay, the consequences were fatal. Whilst in +a state of temporary mania or insensibility, he fell into the hands of a +band of ruffians, who were scouring the streets in search of accomplices +or victims. What followed is given on undoubted authority. + +His captors carried the unfortunate poet into an electioneering den, +where they drugged him with whisky. It was election day for a member of +Congress, and Poe with other victims, was dragged from polling station +to station, and forced to vote the ticket placed in his hand. Incredible +as it may appear, the superintending officials of those days registered +the proffered vote, quite regardless of the condition of the person +personifying a voter. The election over, the dying poet was left in the +streets to perish, but, being found ere life was extinct, he was carried +to the Washington University Hospital, where he expired on the 7th of +October, 1849, in the forty-first year of his age. + +Edgar Poe was buried in the family grave of his grandfather, General +Poe, in the presence of a few friends and relatives. On the 17th +November, 1875, his remains were removed from their first resting-place +and, in the presence of a large number of people, were placed under a +marble monument subscribed for by some of his many admirers. His wife's +body has recently been placed by his side. + +The story of that "fitful fever" which constituted the life of Edgar Poe +leaves upon the reader's mind the conviction that he was, indeed, truly +typified by that: + + "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.'" + + +JOHN H. INGRAM. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + + POEMS OF LATER LIFE + + + + + TO + + THE NOBLEST OF HER SEX-- + TO THE AUTHOR OF + "THE DRAMA OF EXILE"-- + + TO + + MISS ELIZABETH BARRETT BARRETT, + + OF ENGLAND, + + I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME + + WITH THE MOST ENTHUSIASTIC ADMIRATION AND + WITH THE MOST SINCERE ESTEEM. + + 1845 E.A.P. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +PREFACE. + + +These trifles are collected and republished chiefly with a view to their +redemption from the many improvements to which they have been subjected +while going at random the "rounds of the press." I am naturally anxious +that what I have written should circulate as I wrote it, if it circulate +at all. In defence of my own taste, nevertheless, it is incumbent upon +me to say that I think nothing in this volume of much value to the +public, or very creditable to myself. Events not to be controlled have +prevented me from making, at any time, any serious effort in what, under +happier circumstances, would have been the field of my choice. With me +poetry has been not a purpose, but a passion; and the passions should be +held in reverence: they must not--they cannot at will be excited, with +an eye to the paltry compensations, or the more paltry commendations, of +mankind. + +1845. E.A.P. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE RAVEN. + + + 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 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 for evermore. + + 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 I heard again a tapping, somewhat louder than before. + "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; + Let me see, then, what thereat 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 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." + + Much I marvelled 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 upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, + With such name as "Nevermore." + + But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only + That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. + Nothing further then he uttered--not a feather then 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 the melancholy burden bore + Of 'Never--nevermore.'" + + But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, + Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and + door; + Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook 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 croaking "Nevermore." + + This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing + To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; + This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining + On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, + But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, + _She_ shall press, ah, nevermore! + + Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer + Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. + "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath + sent thee + Respite--respite aad nepenthé from thy memories of Lenore! + Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthé, and forget this lost Lenore!" + Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." + + "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 Aidenn, + It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-- + Clasp a 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, + upstarting-- + "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! + 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-light o'er 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! + + +Published, 1845. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE BELLS, + + +I. + + Hear the sledges with the bells-- + Silver bells! + What a world of merriment their melody foretells! + How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, + In their icy air of night! + While the stars, that oversprinkle + All the heavens, seem to twinkle + With a crystalline delight; + Keeping time, time, time, + In a sort of Runic rhyme, + To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells + From the bells, bells, bells, bells, + Bells, bells, bells-- + From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. + + +II. + + Hear the mellow wedding bells, + Golden bells! + What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! + Through the balmy air of night + How they ring out their delight! + From the molten golden-notes, + And all in tune, + What a liquid ditty floats + To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats + On the moon! + Oh, from out the sounding cells, + What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! + How it swells! + How it dwells + On the future! how it tells + Of the rapture that impels + To the swinging and the ringing + Of the bells, bells, bells, + Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, + Bells, bells, bells-- + To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! + + +III. + + Hear the loud alarum bells-- + Brazen bells! + What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells! + In the startled ear of night + How they scream out their affright! + Too much horrified to speak, + They can only shriek, shriek, + Out of tune, + In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, + In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire + Leaping higher, higher, higher, + With a desperate desire, + And a resolute endeavor + Now--now to sit or never, + By the side of the pale-faced moon. + Oh, the bells, bells, bells! + What a tale their terror tells + Of Despair! + How they clang, and clash, and roar! + What a horror they outpour + On the bosom of the palpitating air! + Yet the ear it fully knows, + By the twanging, + And the clanging, + How the danger ebbs and flows; + Yet the ear distinctly tells, + In the jangling, + And the wrangling, + How the danger sinks and swells, + By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-- + Of the bells-- + Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, + Bells, bells, bells-- + In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! + + +IV. + + Hear the tolling of the bells-- + Iron bells! + What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! + In the silence of the night, + How we shiver with affright + At the melancholy menace of their tone! + For every sound that floats + From the rust within their throats + Is a groan. + And the people--ah, the people-- + They that dwell up in the steeple. + All alone, + And who tolling, tolling, tolling, + In that muffled monotone, + Feel a glory in so rolling + On the human heart a stone-- + They are neither man nor woman-- + They are neither brute nor human-- + They are Ghouls: + And their king it is who tolls; + And he rolls, rolls, rolls, + Rolls + A pæan from the bells! + And his merry bosom swells + With the pæan of the bells! + And he dances, and he yells; + Keeping time, time, time, + In a sort of Runic rhyme, + To the pæan of the bells-- + Of the bells: + Keeping time, time, time, + In a sort of Runic rhyme, + To the throbbing of the bells-- + Of the bells, bells, bells-- + To the sobbing of the bells; + Keeping time, time, time, + As he knells, knells, knells, + In a happy Runic rhyme, + To the rolling of the bells-- + Of the bells, bells, bells-- + To the tolling of the bells, + Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, + Bells, bells, bells-- + To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. + + + +1849. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +ULALUME. + + + The skies they were ashen and sober; + The leaves they were crisped and sere-- + The leaves they were withering and sere; + It was night in the lonesome October + Of my most immemorial year; + It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, + In the misty mid region of Weir-- + It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, + In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. + + Here once, through an alley Titanic. + Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul-- + Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. + These were days when my heart was volcanic + As the scoriac rivers that roll-- + As the lavas that restlessly roll + Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek + In the ultimate climes of the pole-- + That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek + In the realms of the boreal pole. + + Our talk had been serious and sober, + But our thoughts they were palsied and sere-- + Our memories were treacherous and sere-- + For we knew not the month was October, + And we marked not the night of the year-- + (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) + We noted not the dim lake of Auber-- + (Though once we had journeyed down here)-- + Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, + Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. + + And now as the night was senescent + And star-dials pointed to morn-- + As the sun-dials hinted of morn-- + At the end of our path a liquescent + And nebulous lustre was born, + Out of which a miraculous crescent + Arose with a duplicate horn-- + Astarte's bediamonded crescent + Distinct with its duplicate horn. + + And I said--"She is warmer than Dian: + She rolls through an ether of sighs-- + She revels in a region of sighs: + She has seen that the tears are not dry on + These cheeks, where the worm never dies, + And has come past the stars of the Lion + To point us the path to the skies-- + To the Lethean peace of the skies-- + Come up, in despite of the Lion, + To shine on us with her bright eyes-- + Come up through the lair of the Lion, + With love in her luminous eyes." + + But Psyche, uplifting her finger, + Said--"Sadly this star I mistrust-- + Her pallor I strangely mistrust:-- + Oh, hasten!--oh, let us not linger! + Oh, fly!--let us fly!--for we must." + In terror she spoke, letting sink her + Wings till they trailed in the dust-- + In agony sobbed, letting sink her + Plumes till they trailed in the dust-- + Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. + + I replied--"This is nothing but dreaming: + Let us on by this tremulous light! + Let us bathe in this crystalline light! + Its Sibyllic splendor is beaming + With Hope and in Beauty to-night:-- + See!--it flickers up the sky through the night! + Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, + And be sure it will lead us aright-- + We safely may trust to a gleaming + That cannot but guide us aright, + Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." + + Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, + And tempted her out of her gloom-- + And conquered her scruples and gloom; + And we passed to the end of a vista, + But were stopped by the door of a tomb-- + By the door of a legended tomb; + And I said--"What is written, sweet sister, + On the door of this legended tomb?" + She replied--"Ulalume--Ulalume-- + 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" + + Then my heart it grew ashen and sober + As the leaves that were crisped and sere-- + As the leaves that were withering and sere; + And I cried--"It was surely October + On _this_ very night of last year + That I journeyed--I journeyed down here-- + That I brought a dread burden down here! + On this night of all nights in the year, + Ah, what demon has tempted me here? + Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber-- + This misty mid region of Weir-- + Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,-- + This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." + + +1847. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +TO HELEN. + + + I saw thee once--once only--years ago: + I must not say _how_ many--but _not_ many. + It was a July midnight; and from out + A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring, + Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven, + There fell a silvery-silken veil of light, + With quietude, and sultriness and slumber, + Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand + Roses that grew in an enchanted garden, + Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe-- + Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses + That gave out, in return for the love-light, + Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death-- + Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses + That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted + By thee, and by the poetry of thy presence. + + Clad all in white, upon a violet bank + I saw thee half-reclining; while the moon + Fell on the upturn'd faces of the roses, + And on thine own, upturn'd--alas, in sorrow! + + Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight-- + Was it not Fate (whose name is also Sorrow), + That bade me pause before that garden-gate, + To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses? + No footstep stirred: the hated world all slept, + Save only thee and me--(O Heaven!--O God! + How my heart beats in coupling those two words!)-- + Save only thee and me. I paused--I looked-- + And in an instant all things disappeared. + (Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!) + The pearly lustre of the moon went out: + The mossy banks and the meandering paths, + The happy flowers and the repining trees, + Were seen no more: the very roses' odors + Died in the arms of the adoring airs. + All--all expired save thee--save less than thou: + Save only the divine light in thine eyes-- + Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes. + I saw but them--they were the world to me. + I saw but them--saw only them for hours-- + Saw only them until the moon went down. + What wild heart-histories seemed to lie unwritten + Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres! + How dark a woe! yet how sublime a hope! + How silently serene a sea of pride! + How daring an ambition! yet how deep-- + How fathomless a capacity for love! + + But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight, + Into a western couch of thunder-cloud; + And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees + Didst glide away. _Only thine eyes remained._ + They _would not_ go--they never yet have gone. + Lighting my lonely pathway home that night, + _They_ have not left me (as my hopes have) since. + They follow me--they lead me through the years. + + They are my ministers--yet I their slave. + Their office is to illumine and enkindle-- + My duty, _to be saved_ by their bright light, + And purified in their electric fire, + And sanctified in their elysian fire. + They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope), + And are far up in Heaven--the stars I kneel to + In the sad, silent watches of my night; + While even in the meridian glare of day + I see them still--two sweetly scintillant + Venuses, unextinguished by the sun! + + +1846. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +ANNABEL LEE. + + + It was many and many a year ago, + In a kingdom by the sea, + That a maiden there lived whom you may know + By the name of ANNABEL LEE; + And this maiden she lived with no other thought + Than to love and be loved by me. + + _I_ was a child and _she_ was a child, + In this kingdom by the sea: + But we loved with a love that was more than love-- + I and my ANNABEL LEE; + With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven + Coveted her and me. + + And this was the reason that, long ago, + In this kingdom by the sea, + A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling + My beautiful ANNABEL LEE; + So that her highborn kinsmen came + And bore her away from me, + To shut her up in a sepulchre + In this kingdom by the sea. + + The angels, not half so happy in heaven, + Went envying her and me-- + Yes!--that was the reason (as all men know, + In this kingdom by the sea) + That the wind came out of the cloud by night, + Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE. + + But our love it was stronger by far than the love + Of those who were older than we-- + Of many far wiser than we-- + And neither the angels in heaven above, + Nor the demons down under the sea, + Can ever dissever my soul from the soul + Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE. + + For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams + Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE; + And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes + Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE; + And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side + Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride, + In her sepulchre there by the sea-- + In her tomb by the side of the sea. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +A VALENTINE. + + + For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes, + Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda, + Shall find her own sweet name, that, nestling lies + Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader. + Search narrowly the lines!--they hold a treasure + Divine--a talisman--an amulet + That must be worn _at heart_. Search well the measure-- + The words--the syllables! Do not forget + The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor! + And yet there is in this no Gordian knot + Which one might not undo without a sabre, + If one could merely comprehend the plot. + Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering + Eyes scintillating soul, there lie _perdus_ + Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing + Of poets by poets--as the name is a poet's, too. + Its letters, although naturally lying + Like the knight Pinto--Mendez Ferdinando-- + Still form a synonym for Truth--Cease trying! + You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you _can_ do. + + +1846. + +[To discover the names in this and the following poem, read the first +letter of the first line in connection with the second letter of the +second line, the third letter of the third line, the fourth, of the +fourth and so on, to the end.] + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +AN ENIGMA. + + + "Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce, + "Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet. + Through all the flimsy things we see at once + As easily as through a Naples bonnet-- + Trash of all trash!--how _can_ a lady don it? + Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff-- + Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff + Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it." + And, veritably, Sol is right enough. + The general tuckermanities are arrant + Bubbles--ephemeral and _so_ transparent-- + But _this is_, now--you may depend upon it-- + Stable, opaque, immortal--all by dint + Of the dear names that lie concealed within't. + + +[See note after previous poem.] + +1847. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +TO MY MOTHER. + + + Because I feel that, in the Heavens above, + The angels, whispering to one another, + Can find, among their burning terms of love, + None so devotional as that of "Mother," + Therefore by that dear name I long have called you-- + You who are more than mother unto me, + And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you, + In setting my Virginia's spirit free. + My mother--my own mother, who died early, + Was but the mother of myself; but you + Are mother to the one I loved so dearly, + And thus are dearer than the mother I knew + By that infinity with which my wife + Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life. + + +1849. + + +[The above was addressed to the poet's mother-in-law, Mrs. Clemm.--Ed.] + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +FOR ANNIE. + + + Thank Heaven! the crisis-- + The danger is past, + And the lingering illness + Is over at last-- + And the fever called "Living" + Is conquered at last. + + Sadly, I know, + I am shorn of my strength, + And no muscle I move + As I lie at full length-- + But no matter!--I feel + I am better at length. + + And I rest so composedly, + Now in my bed, + That any beholder + Might fancy me dead-- + Might start at beholding me + Thinking me dead. + + The moaning and groaning, + The sighing and sobbing, + Are quieted now, + With that horrible throbbing + At heart:--ah, that horrible, + Horrible throbbing! + + The sickness--the nausea-- + The pitiless pain-- + Have ceased, with the fever + That maddened my brain-- + With the fever called "Living" + That burned in my brain. + + And oh! of all tortures + _That_ torture the worst + Has abated--the terrible + Torture of thirst, + For the naphthaline river + Of Passion accurst:-- + I have drank of a water + That quenches all thirst:-- + + Of a water that flows, + With a lullaby sound, + From a spring but a very few + Feet under ground-- + From a cavern not very far + Down under ground. + + And ah! let it never + Be foolishly said + That my room it is gloomy + And narrow my bed-- + For man never slept + In a different bed; + And, to _sleep_, you must slumber + In just such a bed. + + My tantalized spirit + Here blandly reposes, + Forgetting, or never + Regretting its roses-- + Its old agitations + Of myrtles and roses: + + For now, while so quietly + Lying, it fancies + A holier odor + About it, of pansies-- + A rosemary odor, + Commingled with pansies-- + With rue and the beautiful + Puritan pansies. + + And so it lies happily, + Bathing in many + A dream of the truth + And the beauty of Annie-- + Drowned in a bath + Of the tresses of Annie. + + She tenderly kissed me, + She fondly caressed, + And then I fell gently + To sleep on her breast-- + Deeply to sleep + From the heaven of her breast. + + When the light was extinguished, + She covered me warm, + And she prayed to the angels + To keep me from harm-- + To the queen of the angels + To shield me from harm. + + And I lie so composedly, + Now in my bed + (Knowing her love) + That you fancy me dead-- + And I rest so contentedly, + Now in my bed, + (With her love at my breast) + That you fancy me dead-- + That you shudder to look at me. + Thinking me dead. + + But my heart it is brighter + Than all of the many + Stars in the sky, + For it sparkles with Annie-- + It glows with the light + Of the love of my Annie-- + With the thought of the light + Of the eyes of my Annie. + + +1849. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +TO F-- + + + Beloved! amid the earnest woes + That crowd around my earthly path-- + (Drear path, alas! where grows + Not even one lonely rose)-- + My soul at least a solace hath + In dreams of thee, and therein knows + An Eden of bland repose. + + And thus thy memory is to me + Like some enchanted far-off isle + In some tumultuous sea-- + Some ocean throbbing far and free + With storm--but where meanwhile + Serenest skies continually + Just o'er that one bright inland smile. + + +1845. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +TO FRANCES S. OSGOOD. + + + Thou wouldst be loved?--then let thy heart + From its present pathway part not; + Being everything which now thou art, + Be nothing which thou art not. + So with the world thy gentle ways, + Thy grace, thy more than beauty, + Shall be an endless theme of praise. + And love a simple duty. + + +1845. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +ELDORADO. + + + Gaily bedight, + A gallant knight, + In sunshine and in shadow, + Had journeyed long, + Singing a song, + In search of Eldorado. + But he grew old-- + This knight so bold-- + And o'er his heart a shadow + Fell as he found + No spot of ground + That looked like Eldorado. + + And, as his strength + Failed him at length, + He met a pilgrim shadow-- + "Shadow," said he, + "Where can it be-- + This land of Eldorado?" + + "Over the Mountains + Of the Moon, + Down the Valley of the Shadow, + Ride, boldly ride," + The shade replied, + "If you seek for Eldorado!" + + +1849. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +EULALIE. + + + I dwelt alone + In a world of moan, + And my soul was a stagnant tide, + Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride-- + Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride. + Ah, less--less bright + The stars of the night + Than the eyes of the radiant girl! + And never a flake + That the vapor can make + With the moon-tints of purple and pearl, + Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curl-- + Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless + curl. + Now Doubt--now Pain + Come never again, + For her soul gives me sigh for sigh, + And all day long + Shines, bright and strong, + Astarté within the sky, + While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye-- + While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye. + +1845. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM. + + + Take this kiss upon the brow! + And, in parting from you now, + Thus much let me avow-- + You are not wrong, who deem + That my days have been a dream: + Yet if hope has flown away + In a night, or in a day, + In a vision or in none, + Is it therefore the less _gone_? + _All_ that we see or seem + Is but a dream within a dream. + + I stand amid the roar + Of a surf-tormented shore, + And I hold within my hand + Grains of the golden sand-- + How few! yet how they creep + Through my fingers to the deep + While I weep--while I weep! + O God! can I not grasp + Them with a tighter clasp? + O God! can I not save + _One_ from the pitiless wave? + Is _all_ that we see or seem + But a dream within a dream? + + +1849. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +TO MARIE LOUISE (SHEW). + + + Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-- + Of all to whom thine absence is the night-- + The blotting utterly from out high heaven + The sacred sun--of all who, weeping, bless thee + Hourly for hope--for life--ah, above all, + For the resurrection of deep buried faith + In truth, in virtue, in humanity-- + Of all who, on despair's unhallowed bed + Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen + At thy soft-murmured words, "Let there be light!" + At thy soft-murmured words that were fulfilled + In thy seraphic glancing of thine eyes-- + Of all who owe thee most, whose gratitude + Nearest resembles worship,--oh, remember + The truest, the most fervently devoted, + And think that these weak lines are written by him-- + By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think + His spirit is communing with an angel's. + +1847. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +TO MARIE LOUISE (SHEW). + + + Not long ago, the writer of these lines, + In the mad pride of intellectuality, + Maintained "the power of words"--denied that ever + A thought arose within the human brain + Beyond the utterance of the human tongue: + And now, as if in mockery of that boast, + Two words--two foreign soft dissyllables-- + Italian tones, made only to be murmured + By angels dreaming in the moonlit "dew + That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill,"-- + Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart, + Unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought, + Richer, far wilder, far diviner visions + Than even the seraph harper, Israfel, + (Who has "the sweetest voice of all God's creatures,") + Could hope to utter. And I! my spells are broken. + The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand. + With thy dear name as text, though hidden by thee, + I cannot write--I cannot speak or think-- + Alas, I cannot feel; for 'tis not feeling, + This standing motionless upon the golden + Threshold of the wide-open gate of dreams, + Gazing, entranced, adown the gorgeous vista, + And thrilling as I see, upon the right, + Upon the left, and all the way along, + Amid empurpled vapors, far away + To where the prospect terminates--_thee only_! + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE CITY IN THE SEA. + + + Lo! Death has reared himself a throne + In a strange city lying alone + Far down within the dim West, + Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best + Have gone to their eternal rest. + There shrines and palaces and towers + (Time-eaten towers and tremble not!) + Resemble nothing that is ours. + Around, by lifting winds forgot, + Resignedly beneath the sky + The melancholy waters lie. + + No rays from the holy Heaven come down + On the long night-time of that town; + But light from out the lurid sea + Streams up the turrets silently-- + Gleams up the pinnacles far and free-- + Up domes--up spires--up kingly halls-- + Up fanes--up Babylon-like walls-- + Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers + Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers-- + Up many and many a marvellous shrine + Whose wreathed friezes intertwine + The viol, the violet, and the vine. + + Resignedly beneath the sky + The melancholy waters lie. + So blend the turrets and shadows there + That all seem pendulous in air, + While from a proud tower in the town + Death looks gigantically down. + + There open fanes and gaping graves + Yawn level with the luminous waves; + But not the riches there that lie + In each idol's diamond eye-- + Not the gaily-jewelled dead + Tempt the waters from their bed; + For no ripples curl, alas! + Along that wilderness of glass-- + No swellings tell that winds may be + Upon some far-off happier sea-- + No heavings hint that winds have been + On seas less hideously serene. + + But lo, a stir is in the air! + The wave--there is a movement there! + As if the towers had thrust aside, + In slightly sinking, the dull tide-- + As if their tops had feebly given + A void within the filmy Heaven. + The waves have now a redder glow-- + The hours are breathing faint and low-- + And when, amid no earthly moans, + Down, down that town shall settle hence, + Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, + Shall do it reverence. + + +1835? + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE SLEEPER + + + At midnight, in the month of June, + I stand beneath the mystic moon. + An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, + Exhales from out her golden rim, + And, softly dripping, drop by drop, + Upon the quiet mountain top, + Steals drowsily and musically + Into the universal valley. + The rosemary nods upon the grave; + The lily lolls upon the wave; + Wrapping the fog about its breast, + The ruin moulders into rest; + Looking like Lethe, see! the lake + A conscious slumber seems to take, + And would not, for the world, awake. + All Beauty sleeps!--and lo! where lies + (Her casement open to the skies) + Irene, with her Destinies! + + Oh, lady bright! can it be right-- + This window open to the night! + The wanton airs, from the tree-top, + Laughingly through the lattice-drop-- + The bodiless airs, a wizard rout, + Flit through thy chamber in and out, + And wave the curtain canopy + So fitfully--so fearfully-- + Above the closed and fringed lid + 'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid, + That, o'er the floor and down the wall, + Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall! + Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear? + Why and what art thou dreaming here? + Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas, + A wonder to these garden trees! + Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress! + Strange, above all, thy length of tress, + And this all-solemn silentness! + + The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep + Which is enduring, so be deep! + Heaven have her in its sacred keep! + This chamber changed for one more holy, + This bed for one more melancholy, + I pray to God that she may lie + For ever with unopened eye, + While the dim sheeted ghosts go by! + + My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, + As it is lasting, so be deep; + Soft may the worms about her creep! + Far in the forest, dim and old, + For her may some tall vault unfold-- + Some vault that oft hath flung its black + And winged panels fluttering back, + Triumphant, o'er the crested palls, + Of her grand family funerals-- + Some sepulchre, remote, alone, + Against whose portal she hath thrown, + In childhood many an idle stone-- + Some tomb from out whose sounding door + She ne'er shall force an echo more, + Thrilling to think, poor child of sin! + It was the dead who groaned within. + + +1845. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +BRIDAL BALLAD. + + + The ring is on my hand, + And the wreath is on my brow; + Satins and jewels grand + Are all at my command. + And I am happy now. + + And my lord he loves me well; + But, when first he breathed his vow, + I felt my bosom swell-- + For the words rang as a knell, + And the voice seemed _his_ who fell + In the battle down the dell, + And who is happy now. + + But he spoke to reassure me, + And he kissed my pallid brow, + While a reverie came o'er me, + And to the churchyard bore me, + And I sighed to him before me, + Thinking him dead D'Elormie, + "Oh, I am happy now!" + + And thus the words were spoken, + And thus the plighted vow, + And, though my faith be broken, + And, though my heart be broken, + Behold the golden keys + That _proves_ me happy now! + + Would to God I could awaken + For I dream I know not how, + And my soul is sorely shaken + Lest an evil step be taken,-- + Lest the dead who is forsaken + May not be happy now. + + +1845. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +NOTES. + + +1. THE RAVEN + + +"The Raven" was first published on the 29th January, 1845, in the New +York 'Evening Mirror'--a paper its author was then assistant editor of. +It was prefaced by the following words, understood to have been written +by N. P. Willis: + + "We are permitted to copy (in advance of publication) from the second + number of the 'American Review', the following remarkable poem by + Edgar Poe. In our opinion, it is the most effective single example of + 'fugitive poetry' ever published in this country, and unsurpassed in + English poetry for subtle conception, masterly ingenuity of + versification, and consistent sustaining of imaginative lift and + 'pokerishness.' It is one of those 'dainties bred in a book' which we + feed on. It will stick to the memory of everybody who reads it." + +In the February number of the 'American Review' the poem was published +as by "Quarles," and it was introduced by the following note, evidently +suggested if not written by Poe himself. + + ["The following lines from a correspondent--besides the deep, quaint + strain of the sentiment, and the curious introduction of some + ludicrous touches amidst the serious and impressive, as was doubtless + intended by the author--appears to us one of the most felicitous + specimens of unique rhyming which has for some time met our eye. The + resources of English rhythm for varieties of melody, measure, and + sound, producing corresponding diversities of effect, have been + thoroughly studied, much more perceived, by very few poets in the + language. While the classic tongues, especially the Greek, possess, by + power of accent, several advantages for versification over our own, + chiefly through greater abundance of spondaic feet, we have other and + very great advantages of sound by the modern usage of rhyme. + Alliteration is nearly the only effect of that kind which the ancients + had in common with us. It will be seen that much of the melody of 'The + Raven' arises from alliteration and the studious use of similar sounds + in unusual places. In regard to its measure, it may be noted that if + all the verses were like the second, they might properly be placed + merely in short lines, producing a not uncommon form: but the presence + in all the others of one line--mostly the second in the verse" + (stanza?)--"which flows continuously, with only an aspirate pause in + the middle, like that before the short line in the Sapphio Adonic, + while the fifth has at the middle pause no similarity of sound with + any part beside, gives the versification an entirely different effect. + We could wish the capacities of our noble language in prosody were + better understood." + + ED. 'Am. Rev.'] + + + + * * * * * + + + +2. THE BELLS + + +The bibliographical history of "The Bells" is curious. The subject, and +some lines of the original version, having been suggested by the poet's +friend, Mrs. Shew, Poe, when he wrote out the first draft of the poem, +headed it, "The Bells. By Mrs. M. A. Shew." This draft, now the editor's +property, consists of only seventeen lines, and reads thus: + + + +I. + + The bells!--ah the bells! + The little silver bells! + How fairy-like a melody there floats + From their throats-- + From their merry little throats-- + From the silver, tinkling throats + Of the bells, bells, bells-- + Of the bells! + +II. + + The bells!--ah, the bells! + The heavy iron bells! + How horrible a monody there floats + From their throats-- + From their deep-toned throats-- + From their melancholy throats + How I shudder at the notes + Of the bells, bells, bells-- + Of the bells! + + + +In the autumn of 1848 Poe added another line to this poem, and sent it +to the editor of the 'Union Magazine'. It was not published. So, in the +following February, the poet forwarded to the same periodical a much +enlarged and altered transcript. Three months having elapsed without +publication, another revision of the poem, similar to the current +version, was sent, and in the following October was published in the +'Union Magazine'. + + + + * * * * * + + + +3. ULALUME + + +This poem was first published in Colton's 'American Review' for December +1847, as "To----Ulalume: a Ballad." Being reprinted immediately in +the 'Home Journal', it was copied into various publications with the +name of the editor, N. P. Willis, appended, and was ascribed to him. +When first published, it contained the following additional stanza which +Poe subsequently, at the suggestion of Mrs. Whitman wisely suppressed: + + + Said we then--the two, then--"Ah, can it + Have been that the woodlandish ghouls-- + The pitiful, the merciful ghouls-- + To bar up our path and to ban it + From the secret that lies in these wolds-- + Had drawn up the spectre of a planet + From the limbo of lunary souls-- + This sinfully scintillant planet + From the Hell of the planetary souls?" + + + + * * * * * + + + +4. TO HELEN + + +"To Helen" (Mrs. S. Helen Whitman) was not published Until November +1848, although written several months earlier. It first appeared in the +'Union Magazine' and with the omission, contrary to the knowledge or +desire of Poe, of the line, "Oh, God! oh, Heaven--how my heart beats in +coupling those two words". + + + + * * * * * + + + +5. ANNABEL LEE + + +"Annabel Lee" was written early in 1849, and is evidently an expression +of the poet's undying love for his deceased bride although at least one +of his lady admirers deemed it a response to her admiration. Poe sent a +copy of the ballad to the 'Union Magazine', in which publication it +appeared in January 1850, three months after the author's death. Whilst +suffering from "hope deferred" as to its fate, Poe presented a copy of +"Annabel Lee" to the editor of the 'Southern Literary Messenger', who +published it in the November number of his periodical, a month after +Poe's death. In the meantime the poet's own copy, left among his papers, +passed into the hands of the person engaged to edit his works, and he +quoted the poem in an obituary of Poe in the New York 'Tribune', before +any one else had an opportunity of publishing it. + + + + * * * * * + + + +6. A VALENTINE + + +"A Valentine," one of three poems addressed to Mrs. Osgood, appears to +have been written early in 1846. + + + + * * * * * + + + +7. AN ENIGMA + + +"An Enigma," addressed to Mrs. Sarah Anna Lewig ("Stella"), was sent to +that lady in a letter, in November 1847, and the following March +appeared in Sartain's 'Union Magazine'. + + + +* * * * * + + + +8. TO MY MOTHER + + +The sonnet, "To My Mother" (Maria Clemm), was sent for publication to +the short-lived 'Flag of our Union', early in 1849, but does not appear +to have been issued until after its author's death, when it appeared in +the 'Leaflets of Memory' for 1850. + + + +* * * * * + + + +9. FOR ANNIE + + +"For Annie" was first published in the 'Flag of our Union', in the +spring of 1849. Poe, annoyed at some misprints in this issue, shortly +afterwards caused a corrected copy to be inserted in the 'Home Journal'. + + + +* * * * * + + + +10. TO F---- + + +"To F----" (Frances Sargeant Osgood) appeared in the 'Broadway Journal' +for April 1845. These lines are but slightly varied from those inscribed +"To Mary," in the 'Southern Literary Messenger' for July 1835, and +subsequently republished, with the two stanzas transposed, in 'Graham's +Magazine' for March 1842, as "To One Departed." + + + +* * * * * + + + +11. TO FRANCES S. OSGOOD + + +"To F--s S. O--d," a portion of the poet's triune tribute to Mrs. +Osgood, was published in the 'Broadway Journal' for September 1845. The +earliest version of these lines appeared in the 'Southern Literary +Messenger' for September 1835, as "Lines written in an Album," and was +addressed to Eliza White, the proprietor's daughter. Slightly revised, +the poem reappeared in Burton's 'Gentleman's Magazine' for August, 1839, +as "To----." + + + +* * * * * + + + +12. ELDORADO + + +Although "Eldorado" was published during Poe's lifetime, in 1849, in the +'Flag of our Union', it does not appear to have ever received the +author's finishing touches. + + + +* * * * * + + + +13. EULALIE + + +"Eulalie--a Song" first appears in Colton's 'American Review' for July, +1845. + + + +* * * * * + + + +14. A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM + + +"A Dream within a Dream" does not appear to have been published as a +separate poem during its author's lifetime. A portion of it was +contained, in 1829, in the piece beginning, "Should my early life seem," +and in 1831 some few lines of it were used as a conclusion to +"Tamerlane." In 1849 the poet sent a friend all but the first nine lines +of the piece as a separate poem, headed "For Annie." + + + +* * * * * + + + +15 TO MARIE LOUISE (SHEW) + + +"To M----L----S----," addressed to Mrs. Marie Louise Shew, was written +in February 1847, and published shortly afterwards. In the first +posthumous collection of Poe's poems these lines were, for some reason, +included in the "Poems written in Youth," and amongst those poems they +have hitherto been included. + + + +* * * * * + + + +16. (2) TO MARIE LOUISE (SHEW) + + +"To----," a second piece addressed to Mrs. Shew, and written in 1848, +was also first published, but in a somewhat faulty form, in the above +named posthumous collection. + + + +* * * * * + + + +17. THE CITY IN THE SEA + + +Under the title of "The Doomed City" the initial version of "The City in +the Sea" appeared in the 1831 volume of Poems by Poe: it reappeared as +"The City of Sin," in the 'Southern Literary Messenger' for August 1835, +whilst the present draft of it first appeared in Colton's 'American +Review' for April, 1845. + + + +* * * * * + + + +18. THE SLEEPER + + +As "Irene," the earliest known version of "The Sleeper," appeared in the +1831 volume. It reappeared in the 'Literary Messenger' for May 1836, +and, in its present form, in the 'Broadway Journal' for May 1845. + + + +* * * * * + + + +19. THE BRIDAL BALLAD + + +"The Bridal Ballad" is first discoverable in the 'Southern Literary +Messenger' for January 1837, and, in its present compressed and revised +form, was reprinted in the 'Broadway Journal' for August, 1845. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + + POEMS OF MANHOOD. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +LENORE. + + + Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever! + Let the bell toll!--a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river. + And, Guy de Vere, hast _thou_ no tear?--weep now or never more! + See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! + Come! let the burial rite be read--the funeral song be sung!-- + An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young-- + A dirge for her, the doubly dead in that she died so young. + + "Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride, + And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her--that she died! + How _shall_ the ritual, then, be read?--the requiem how be sung + By you--by yours, the evil eye,--by yours, the slanderous tongue + That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?" + + _Peccavimus;_ but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song + Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong! + The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew beside, + Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride-- + For her, the fair and _débonnaire_, that now so lowly lies, + The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes-- + The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes. + + "Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise, + But waft the angel on her flight with a pæan of old days! + Let _no_ bell toll!--lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth, + Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damned Earth. + To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven-- + From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven-- + From grief and groan to a golden throne beside the King of Heaven." + + +1844. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +TO ONE IN PARADISE, + + + Thou wast that all to me, love, + For which my soul did pine-- + A green isle in the sea, love, + A fountain and a shrine, + All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, + And all the flowers were mine. + + Ah, dream too bright to last! + Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise + But to be overcast! + A voice from out the Future cries, + "On! on!"--but o'er the Past + (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies + Mute, motionless, aghast! + + For, alas! alas! with me + The light of Life is o'er! + "No more--no more--no more"-- + (Such language holds the solemn sea + To the sands upon the shore) + Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, + Or the stricken eagle soar! + + And all my days are trances, + And all my nightly dreams + Are where thy dark eye glances, + And where thy footstep gleams-- + In what ethereal dances, + By what eternal streams! + + Alas! for that accursed time + They bore thee o'er the billow, + From love to titled age and crime, + And an unholy pillow! + From me, and from our misty clime, + Where weeps the silver willow! + + +1835 + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE COLISEUM. + + + Type of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary + Of lofty contemplation left to Time + By buried centuries of pomp and power! + At length--at length--after so many days + Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst, + (Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,) + I kneel, an altered and an humble man, + Amid thy shadows, and so drink within + My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory! + + Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld! + Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night! + I feel ye now--I feel ye in your strength-- + O spells more sure than e'er Judæan king + Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane! + O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee + Ever drew down from out the quiet stars! + + Here, where a hero fell, a column falls! + Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold, + A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat! + Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair + Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle! + Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled, + Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home, + Lit by the wan light of the horned moon, + The swift and silent lizard of the stones! + + But stay! these walls--these ivy-clad arcades-- + These mouldering plinths--these sad and blackened shafts-- + These vague entablatures--this crumbling frieze-- + These shattered cornices--this wreck--this ruin-- + These stones--alas! these gray stones--are they all-- + All of the famed, and the colossal left + By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me? + + "Not all"--the Echoes answer me--"not all! + Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever + From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise, + As melody from Memnon to the Sun. + We rule the hearts of mightiest men--we rule + With a despotic sway all giant minds. + We are not impotent--we pallid stones. + Not all our power is gone--not all our fame-- + Not all the magic of our high renown-- + Not all the wonder that encircles us-- + Not all the mysteries that in us lie-- + Not all the memories that hang upon + And cling around about us as a garment, + Clothing us in a robe of more than glory." + + +1838. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE HAUNTED PALACE. + + + In the greenest of our valleys + By good angels tenanted, + Once a fair and stately palace-- + Radiant palace--reared its head. + In the monarch Thought's dominion-- + It stood there! + Never seraph spread a pinion + Over fabric half so fair! + + Banners yellow, glorious, golden, + On its roof did float and flow, + (This--all this--was in the olden + Time long ago), + And every gentle air that dallied, + In that sweet day, + Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, + A winged odor went away. + + Wanderers in that happy valley, + Through two luminous windows, saw + Spirits moving musically, + To a lute's well-tunëd law, + Bound about a throne where, sitting + (Porphyrogene!) + In state his glory well befitting, + The ruler of the realm was seen. + + And all with pearl and ruby glowing + Was the fair palace door, + Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, + And sparkling evermore, + A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty + Was but to sing, + In voices of surpassing beauty, + The wit and wisdom of their king. + + But evil things, in robes of sorrow, + Assailed the monarch's high estate. + (Ah, let us mourn!--for never morrow + Shall dawn upon him desolate !) + And round about his home the glory + That blushed and bloomed, + Is but a dim-remembered story + Of the old time entombed. + + And travellers, now, within that valley, + Through the red-litten windows see + Vast forms, that move fantastically + To a discordant melody, + While, like a ghastly rapid river, + Through the pale door + A hideous throng rush out forever + And laugh--but smile no more. + + +1838. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE CONQUEROR WORM. + + + Lo! 'tis a gala night + Within the lonesome latter years! + An angel throng, bewinged, bedight + In veils, and drowned in tears, + Sit in a theatre, to see + A play of hopes and fears, + While the orchestra breathes fitfully + The music of the spheres. + + Mimes, in the form of God on high, + Mutter and mumble low, + And hither and thither fly-- + Mere puppets they, who come and go + At bidding of vast formless things + That shift the scenery to and fro, + Flapping from out their Condor wings + Invisible Wo! + + That motley drama--oh, be sure + It shall not be forgot! + With its Phantom chased for evermore, + By a crowd that seize it not, + Through a circle that ever returneth in + To the self-same spot, + And much of Madness, and more of Sin, + And Horror the soul of the plot. + + But see, amid the mimic rout + A crawling shape intrude! + A blood-red thing that writhes from out + The scenic solitude! + It writhes!--it writhes!--with mortal pangs + The mimes become its food, + And the angels sob at vermin fangs + In human gore imbued. + + Out--out are the lights--out all! + And, over each quivering form, + The curtain, a funeral pall, + Comes down with the rush of a storm, + And the angels, all pallid and wan, + Uprising, unveiling, affirm + That the play is the tragedy, "Man," + And its hero the Conqueror Worm. + + +1838 + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +SILENCE. + + + There are some qualities--some incorporate things, + That have a double life, which thus is made + A type of that twin entity which springs + From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade. + There is a twofold _Silence_--sea and shore-- + Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places, + Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces, + Some human memories and tearful lore, + Render him terrorless: his name's "No More." + He is the corporate Silence: dread him not! + No power hath he of evil in himself; + But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!) + Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf, + That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod + No foot of man), commend thyself to God! + + +1840 + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +DREAMLAND. + + + By a route obscure and lonely, + Haunted by ill angels only, + Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, + On a black throne reigns upright, + I have reached these lands but newly + From an ultimate dim Thule-- + From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, + Out of SPACE--out of TIME. + + Bottomless vales and boundless floods, + And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods, + With forms that no man can discover + For the dews that drip all over; + Mountains toppling evermore + Into seas without a shore; + Seas that restlessly aspire, + Surging, unto skies of fire; + Lakes that endlessly outspread + Their lone waters--lone and dead, + Their still waters--still and chilly + With the snows of the lolling lily. + + By the lakes that thus outspread + Their lone waters, lone and dead,-- + Their sad waters, sad and chilly + With the snows of the lolling lily,-- + + By the mountains--near the river + Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,-- + By the gray woods,--by the swamp + Where the toad and the newt encamp,-- + By the dismal tarns and pools + Where dwell the Ghouls,-- + By each spot the most unholy-- + In each nook most melancholy,-- + + There the traveller meets aghast + Sheeted Memories of the past-- + Shrouded forms that start and sigh + As they pass the wanderer by-- + White-robed forms of friends long given, + In agony, to the Earth--and Heaven. + + For the heart whose woes are legion + 'Tis a peaceful, soothing region-- + For the spirit that walks in shadow + 'Tis--oh, 'tis an Eldorado! + But the traveller, travelling through it, + May not--dare not openly view it; + Never its mysteries are exposed + To the weak human eye unclosed; + So wills its King, who hath forbid + The uplifting of the fringed lid; + And thus the sad Soul that here passes + Beholds it but through darkened glasses. + + By a route obscure and lonely, + Haunted by ill angels only. + + Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, + On a black throne reigns upright, + I have wandered home but newly + From this ultimate dim Thule. + + +1844 + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +TO ZANTE. + + + Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers, + Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take! + How many memories of what radiant hours + At sight of thee and thine at once awake! + How many scenes of what departed bliss! + How many thoughts of what entombed hopes! + How many visions of a maiden that is + No more--no more upon thy verdant slopes! + + _No more!_ alas, that magical sad sound + Transforming all! Thy charms shall please _no more_-- + Thy memory _no more!_ Accursed ground + Henceforward I hold thy flower-enamelled shore, + O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante! + "Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante!" + + +1887. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +HYMN. + + + At morn--at noon--at twilight dim-- + Maria! thou hast heard my hymn! + In joy and wo--in good and ill-- + Mother of God, be with me still! + When the Hours flew brightly by, + And not a cloud obscured the sky, + My soul, lest it should truant be, + Thy grace did guide to thine and thee + Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast + Darkly my Present and my Past, + Let my future radiant shine + With sweet hopes of thee and thine! + + +1885. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +NOTES. + + + +20. LENORE + + +"Lenore" was published, very nearly in its existing shape, in 'The +Pioneer' for 1843, but under the title of "The Pæan"--now first +published in the POEMS OF YOUTH--the germ of it appeared in 1831. + + + +* * * * * + + + +21. TO ONE IN PARADISE + + +"To One in Paradise" was included originally in "The Visionary" (a tale +now known as "The Assignation"), in July, 1835, and appeared as a +separate poem entitled "To Ianthe in Heaven," in Burton's 'Gentleman's +Magazine' for July, 1839. The fifth stanza is now added, for the first +time, to the piece. + + + +* * * * * + + + +22. THE COLISEUM + + +"The Coliseum" appeared in the Baltimore 'Saturday Visitor' ('sic') in +1833, and was republished in the 'Southern Literary Messenger' for +August 1835, as "A Prize Poem." + + + +* * * * * + + + +23. THE HAUNTED PALACE + + +"The Haunted Palace" originally issued in the Baltimore 'American +Museum' for April, 1888, was subsequently embodied in that much admired +tale, "The Fall of the House of Usher," and published in it in Burton's +'Gentleman's Magazine' for September, 1839. It reappeared in that as a +separate poem in the 1845 edition of Poe's poems. + + + +* * * * * + + + +24. THE CONQUEROR WORM + + +"The Conqueror Worm," then contained in Poe's favorite tale of "Ligeia," +was first published in the 'American Museum' for September, 1838. As a +separate poem, it reappeared in 'Graham's Magazine' for January, 1843. + + + +* * * * * + + + +25. SILENCE + + +The sonnet, "Silence," was originally published in Burton's 'Gentleman's +Magazine' for April, 1840. + + + +* * * * * + + + +26. DREAMLAND + + +The first known publication of "Dreamland" was in 'Graham's Magazine' +for June, 1844. + + + +* * * * * + + + +37. TO ZANTE + + +The "Sonnet to Zante" is not discoverable earlier than January, 1837, +when it appeared in the 'Southern Literary Messenger'. + + + +* * * * * + + + +28. HYMN + + +The initial version of the "Catholic Hymn" was contained in the story of +"Morella," and published in the 'Southern Literary Messenger' for April, +1885. The lines as they now stand, and with their present title, were +first published in the 'Broadway Journal for August', 1845. + + + + + +* * * * * + + + + + + SCENES FROM "POLITIAN." + + AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA. + + +I. + +ROME.--A Hall in a Palace. ALESSANDRA and CASTIGLIONE + +_Alessandra_. Thou art sad, Castiglione. + +_Castiglione_. Sad!--not I. + Oh, I'm the happiest, happiest man in Rome! + A few days more, thou knowest, my Alessandra, + Will make thee mine. Oh, I am very happy! + +_Aless_. Methinks thou hast a singular way of showing + Thy happiness--what ails thee, cousin of mine? + Why didst thou sigh so deeply? + +_Cas_. Did I sigh? + I was not conscious of it. It is a fashion, + A silly--a most silly fashion I have + When I am _very_ happy. Did I sigh? (_sighing._) + +_Aless_. Thou didst. Thou art not well. Thou hast indulged + Too much of late, and I am vexed to see it. + Late hours and wine, Castiglione,--these + Will ruin thee! thou art already altered-- + Thy looks are haggard--nothing so wears away + The constitution as late hours and wine. + +_Cas. (musing_ ). Nothing, fair cousin, nothing-- + Not even deep sorrow-- + Wears it away like evil hours and wine. + I will amend. + +_Aless_. Do it! I would have thee drop + Thy riotous company, too--fellows low born + Ill suit the like of old Di Broglio's heir + And Alessandra's husband. + +_Cas_. I will drop them. + +_Aless_. Thou wilt--thou must. Attend thou also more + To thy dress and equipage--they are over plain + For thy lofty rank and fashion--much depends + Upon appearances. + +_Cas_. I'll see to it. + +_Aless_. Then see to it!--pay more attention, sir, + To a becoming carriage--much thou wantest + In dignity. + +_Cas_. Much, much, oh, much I want + In proper dignity. + +_Aless. +(haughtily_). Thou mockest me, sir! + +_Cos. +(abstractedly_). Sweet, gentle Lalage! + +_Aless_. Heard I aright? + I speak to him--he speaks of Lalage? + Sir Count! + (_places her hand on his shoulder_) + what art thou dreaming? + He's not well! + What ails thee, sir? + +_Cas.(starting_). Cousin! fair cousin!--madam! + I crave thy pardon--indeed I am not well-- + Your hand from off my shoulder, if you please. + This air is most oppressive!--Madam--the Duke! + +_Enter Di Broglio_. + +_Di Broglio_. My son, I've news for thee!--hey! + --what's the matter? + (_observing Alessandra_). + I' the pouts? Kiss her, Castiglione! kiss her, + You dog! and make it up, I say, this minute! + I've news for you both. Politian is expected + Hourly in Rome--Politian, Earl of Leicester! + We'll have him at the wedding. 'Tis his first visit + To the imperial city. + +_Aless_. What! Politian + Of Britain, Earl of Leicester? + +_Di Brog_. The same, my love. + We'll have him at the wedding. A man quite young + In years, but gray in fame. I have not seen him, + But Rumor speaks of him as of a prodigy + Pre-eminent in arts, and arms, and wealth, + And high descent. We'll have him at the wedding. + +_Aless_. I have heard much of this Politian. + Gay, volatile and giddy--is he not, + And little given to thinking? + +_Di Brog_. Far from it, love. + No branch, they say, of all philosophy + So deep abstruse he has not mastered it. + Learned as few are learned. + +_Aless_. 'Tis very strange! + I have known men have seen Politian + And sought his company. They speak of him + As of one who entered madly into life, + Drinking the cup of pleasure to the dregs. + +_Cas_. Ridiculous! Now _I_ have seen Politian + And know him well--nor learned nor mirthful he. + He is a dreamer, and shut out + From common passions. + +_Di Brog_. Children, we disagree. + Let us go forth and taste the fragrant air + Of the garden. Did I dream, or did I hear + Politian was a _melancholy_ man? + + (_Exeunt._) + + + + +II. + +ROME.--A Lady's Apartment, with a window open and looking into a garden. +LALAGE, in deep mourning, reading at a table on which lie some books and +a hand-mirror. In the background JACINTA (a servant maid) leans +carelessly upon a chair. + + +_Lalage_. Jacinta! is it thou? + +_Jacinta +(pertly_). Yes, ma'am, I'm here. + +_Lal_. I did not know, Jacinta, you were in waiting. + Sit down!--let not my presence trouble you-- + Sit down!--for I am humble, most humble. + +_Jac. (aside_). 'Tis time. + +(_Jacinta seats herself in a side-long manner upon the chair, resting +her elbows upon the back, and regarding her mistress with a contemptuous +look. Lalage continues to read._) + +_Lal_. "It in another climate, so he said, + Bore a bright golden flower, but not i' this soil!" + + (_pauses--turns over some leaves and resumes_.) + + "No lingering winters there, nor snow, nor shower-- + But Ocean ever to refresh mankind + Breathes the shrill spirit of the western wind" + Oh, beautiful!--most beautiful!--how like + To what my fevered soul doth dream of Heaven! + O happy land! (_pauses_) She died!--the maiden died! + O still more happy maiden who couldst die! + Jacinta! + + (_Jacinta returns no answer, and Lalage presently resumes_.) + + Again!--a similar tale + Told of a beauteous dame beyond the sea! + Thus speaketh one Ferdinand in the words of the play-- + "She died full young"--one Bossola answers him-- + "I think not so--her infelicity + Seemed to have years too many"--Ah, luckless lady! + Jacinta! (_still no answer_.) + Here's a far sterner story-- + But like--oh, very like in its despair-- + Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily + A thousand hearts--losing at length her own. + She died. Thus endeth the history--and her maids + Lean over her and keep--two gentle maids + With gentle names--Eiros and Charmion! + Rainbow and Dove!--Jacinta! + +_Jac_. +(_pettishly_). Madam, what is it? + +_Lal_. Wilt thou, my good Jacinta, be so kind + As go down in the library and bring me + The Holy Evangelists? + +_Jac_. Pshaw! + + (_Exit_) + +_Lal_. If there be balm + For the wounded spirit in Gilead, it is there! + Dew in the night time of my bitter trouble + Will there be found--"dew sweeter far than that + Which hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill." + +(_re-enter Jacinta, and throws a volume on the table_.) + + There, ma'am, 's the book. + (_aside_.) Indeed she is very troublesome. + +_Lal_. +(_astonished_). What didst thou say, Jacinta? + Have I done aught + To grieve thee or to vex thee?--I am sorry. + For thou hast served me long and ever been + Trustworthy and respectful. + (_resumes her reading_.) + +_Jac_. (_aside_.) I can't believe + She has any more jewels--no--no--she gave me all. + +_Lal_. What didst thou say, Jacinta? Now I bethink me + Thou hast not spoken lately of thy wedding. + How fares good Ugo?--and when is it to be? + Can I do aught?--is there no further aid + Thou needest, Jacinta? + +_Jac_. (_aside_.) Is there no _further_ aid! + That's meant for me. I'm sure, madam, you need not + Be always throwing those jewels in my teeth. + +_Lal_. Jewels! Jacinta,--now indeed, Jacinta, + I thought not of the jewels. + +_Jac_. Oh, perhaps not! + But then I might have sworn it. After all, + There's Ugo says the ring is only paste, + For he's sure the Count Castiglione never + Would have given a real diamond to such as you; + And at the best I'm certain, madam, you cannot + Have use for jewels _now_. But I might have sworn it. + + (_Exit_) + +(_Lalage bursts into tears and leans her head upon the table--after a +short pause raises it_.) + +_Lal_. Poor Lalage!--and is it come to this? + Thy servant maid!--but courage!--'tis but a viper + Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul! + (_taking up the mirror_) + Ha! here at least's a friend--too much a friend + In earlier days--a friend will not deceive thee. + Fair mirror and true! now tell me (for thou canst) + A tale--a pretty tale--and heed thou not + Though it be rife with woe. It answers me. + It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks, + And beauty long deceased--remembers me, + Of Joy departed--Hope, the Seraph Hope, + Inurned and entombed!--now, in a tone + Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible, + Whispers of early grave untimely yawning + For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true!--thou liest not! + _Thou_ hast no end to gain--no heart to break-- + Castiglione lied who said he loved---- + Thou true--he false!--false!--false! + +(_While she speaks, a monk enters her apartment and approaches +unobserved_) + +_Monk_. Refuge thou hast, + Sweet daughter! in Heaven. Think of eternal things! + Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray! + +_Lal. +(arising hurriedly_). I _cannot_ pray!--My soul is at war with God! + The frightful sounds of merriment below; + Disturb my senses--go! I cannot pray-- + The sweet airs from the garden worry me! + Thy presence grieves me--go!--thy priestly raiment + Fills me with dread--thy ebony crucifix + With horror and awe! + +_Monk_. Think of thy precious soul! + +_Lal_. Think of my early days!--think of my father + And mother in Heaven! think of our quiet home, + And the rivulet that ran before the door! + Think of my little sisters!--think of them! + And think of me!--think of my trusting love + And confidence--his vows--my ruin--think--think + Of my unspeakable misery!----begone! + Yet stay! yet stay!--what was it thou saidst of prayer + And penitence? Didst thou not speak of faith + And vows before the throne? + +_Monk_. I did. + +_Lal_. 'Tis well. + There _is_ a vow 'twere fitting should be made-- + A sacred vow, imperative and urgent, + A solemn vow! + +_Monk_. Daughter, this zeal is well! + +_Lal_. Father, this zeal is anything but well! + Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing? + A crucifix whereon to register + This sacred vow? (_he hands her his own_.) + Not that--Oh! no!--no!--no (_shuddering_.) + Not that! Not that!--I tell thee, holy man, + Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me! + Stand back! I have a crucifix myself,-- + _I_ have a crucifix! Methinks 'twere fitting + The deed--the vow--the symbol of the deed-- + And the deed's register should tally, father! + (_draws a cross-handled dagger and raises it on high_.) + Behold the cross wherewith a vow like mine + Is written in heaven! + +_Monk_. Thy words are madness, daughter, + And speak a purpose unholy--thy lips are livid-- + Thine eyes are wild--tempt not the wrath divine! + Pause ere too late!--oh, be not--be not rash! + Swear not the oath--oh, swear it not! + +_Lal_. 'Tis sworn! + + + + +III. + +An Apartment in a Palace. POLITIAN and BALDAZZAR. + + +_Baldazzar_. Arouse thee now, Politian! + Thou must not--nay indeed, indeed, thou shalt not + Give way unto these humors. Be thyself! + Shake off the idle fancies that beset thee + And live, for now thou diest! + +_Politian_. Not so, Baldazzar! + _Surely_ I live. + +_Bal_. Politian, it doth grieve me + To see thee thus! + +_Pol_. Baldazzar, it doth grieve me + To give thee cause for grief, my honored friend. + Command me, sir! what wouldst thou have me do? + At thy behest I will shake off that nature + Which from my forefathers I did inherit, + Which with my mother's milk I did imbibe, + And be no more Politian, but some other. + Command me, sir! + +_Bal_. To the field then--to the field-- + To the senate or the field. + +_Pol_. Alas! alas! + There is an imp would follow me even there! + There is an imp _hath_ followed me even there! + There is--what voice was that? + +_Bal_. I heard it not. + I heard not any voice except thine own, + And the echo of thine own. + +_Pol_. Then I but dreamed. + +_Bal_. Give not thy soul to dreams: the camp--the court + Befit thee--Fame awaits thee--Glory calls-- + And her the trumpet-tongued thou wilt not hear + In hearkening to imaginary sounds + And phantom voices. + +_Pol_. It _is_ a phantom voice! + Didst thou not hear it _then_? + +_Bal_ I heard it not. + +_Pol_. Thou heardst it not!--Baldazzar, speak no more + To me, Politian, of thy camps and courts. + Oh! I am sick, sick, sick, even unto death, + Of the hollow and high-sounding vanities + Of the populous Earth! Bear with me yet awhile + We have been boys together--school-fellows-- + And now are friends--yet shall not be so long-- + For in the Eternal City thou shalt do me + A kind and gentle office, and a Power-- + A Power august, benignant, and supreme-- + Shall then absolve thee of all further duties + Unto thy friend. + +_Bal_. Thou speakest a fearful riddle + I _will_ not understand. + +_Pol_. Yet now as Fate + Approaches, and the Hours are breathing low, + The sands of Time are changed to golden grains, + And dazzle me, Baldazzar. Alas! alas! + I _cannot_ die, having within my heart + So keen a relish for the beautiful + As hath been kindled within it. Methinks the air + Is balmier now than it was wont to be-- + Rich melodies are floating in the winds-- + A rarer loveliness bedecks the earth-- + And with a holier lustre the quiet moon + Sitteth in Heaven.--Hist! hist! thou canst not say + Thou hearest not _now_, Baldazzar? + +_Bal_. Indeed I hear not. + +_Pol_. Not hear it!--listen--now--listen!--the faintest sound + And yet the sweetest that ear ever heard! + A lady's voice!--and sorrow in the tone! + Baldazzar, it oppresses me like a spell! + Again!--again!--how solemnly it falls + Into my heart of hearts! that eloquent voice + Surely I never heard--yet it were well + Had I _but_ heard it with its thrilling tones + In earlier days! + +_Bal_. I myself hear it now. + Be still!--the voice, if I mistake not greatly, + Proceeds from younder lattice--which you may see + Very plainly through the window--it belongs, + Does it not? unto this palace of the Duke. + The singer is undoubtedly beneath + The roof of his Excellency--and perhaps + Is even that Alessandra of whom he spoke + As the betrothed of Castiglione, + His son and heir. + +_Pol_. Be still!--it comes again! + +_Voice_ +(_very faintly_). "And is thy heart so strong [1] + As for to leave me thus, + That have loved thee so long, + In wealth and woe among? + And is thy heart so strong + As for to leave me thus? + Say nay! say nay!" + + +_Bal_. The song is English, and I oft have heard it + In merry England--never so plaintively-- + Hist! hist! it comes again! + +_Voice +(more loudly_). "Is it so strong + As for to leave me thus, + That have loved thee so long, + In wealth and woe among? + And is thy heart so strong + As for to leave me thus? + Say nay! say nay!" + +_Bal_. 'Tis hushed and all is still! + +_Pol_. All _is not_ still. + +_Bal_. Let us go down. + +_Pol_. Go down, Baldazzar, go! + +_Bal_. The hour is growing late--the Duke awaits us,-- + Thy presence is expected in the hall + Below. What ails thee, Earl Politian? + +_Voice_ +(_distinctly_). "Who have loved thee so long, + In wealth and woe among, + And is thy heart so strong? + Say nay! say nay!" + +_Bal_. Let us descend!--'tis time. Politian, give + These fancies to the wind. Remember, pray, + Your bearing lately savored much of rudeness + Unto the Duke. Arouse thee! and remember! + +_Pol_. Remember? I do. Lead on! I _do_ remember. + (_going_). + Let us descend. Believe me I would give, + Freely would give the broad lands of my earldom + To look upon the face hidden by yon lattice-- + "To gaze upon that veiled face, and hear + Once more that silent tongue." + +_Bal_. Let me beg you, sir, + Descend with me--the Duke may be offended. + Let us go down, I pray you. + +_Voice (loudly_). _Say nay_!--_say nay_! + +_Pol_. (_aside_). 'Tis strange!--'tis very strange--methought + the voice + Chimed in with my desires and bade me stay! + (_Approaching the window_) + Sweet voice! I heed thee, and will surely stay. + Now be this fancy, by heaven, or be it Fate, + Still will I not descend. Baldazzar, make + Apology unto the Duke for me; + I go not down to-night. + +_Bal_. Your lordship's pleasure + Shall be attended to. Good-night, Politian. + +_Pol_. Good-night, my friend, good-night. + + + + +IV. + +The Gardens of a Palace--Moonlight. LALAGE and POLITIAN. + + +_Lalage_. And dost thou speak of love + To _me_, Politian?--dost thou speak of love + To Lalage?--ah woe--ah woe is me! + This mockery is most cruel--most cruel indeed! + +_Politian_. Weep not! oh, sob not thus!--thy bitter tears + Will madden me. Oh, mourn not, Lalage-- + Be comforted! I know--I know it all, + And _still_ I speak of love. Look at me, brightest, + And beautiful Lalage!--turn here thine eyes! + Thou askest me if I could speak of love, + Knowing what I know, and seeing what I have seen + Thou askest me that--and thus I answer thee-- + Thus on my bended knee I answer thee. (_kneeling_.) + Sweet Lalage, _I love thee_--_love thee_--_love thee_; + Thro' good and ill--thro' weal and woe, _I love thee_. + Not mother, with her first-born on her knee, + Thrills with intenser love than I for thee. + Not on God's altar, in any time or clime, + Burned there a holier fire than burneth now + Within my spirit for _thee_. And do I love? + (_arising_.) + Even for thy woes I love thee--even for thy woes-- + Thy beauty and thy woes. + +_Lal_. Alas, proud Earl, + Thou dost forget thyself, remembering me! + How, in thy father's halls, among the maidens + Pure and reproachless of thy princely line, + Could the dishonored Lalage abide? + Thy wife, and with a tainted memory-- + My seared and blighted name, how would it tally + With the ancestral honors of thy house, + And with thy glory? + +_Pol_. Speak not to me of glory! + I hate--I loathe the name; I do abhor + The unsatisfactory and ideal thing. + Art thou not Lalage, and I Politian? + Do I not love--art thou not beautiful-- + What need we more? Ha! glory! now speak not of it: + By all I hold most sacred and most solemn-- + By all my wishes now--my fears hereafter-- + By all I scorn on earth and hope in heaven-- + There is no deed I would more glory in, + Than in thy cause to scoff at this same glory + And trample it under foot. What matters it-- + What matters it, my fairest, and my best, + That we go down unhonored and forgotten + Into the dust--so we descend together? + Descend together--and then--and then perchance-- + +_Lal_. Why dost thou pause, Politian? + +_Pol_. And then perchance + _Arise_ together, Lalage, and roam + The starry and quiet dwellings of the blest, + And still-- + +_Lal_. Why dost thou pause, Politian? + +_Pol_. And still _together_--_together_. + +_Lal_. Now, Earl of Leicester! + Thou _lovest_ me, and in my heart of hearts + I feel thou lovest me truly. + +_Pol_. O Lalage! + (_throwing himself upon his knee_.) + And lovest thou _me_? + +_Lal_. Hist! hush! within the gloom + Of yonder trees methought a figure passed-- + A spectral figure, solemn, and slow, and noiseless-- + Like the grim shadow Conscience, solemn and noiseless. + (_walks across and returns_.) + I was mistaken--'twas but a giant bough + Stirred by the autumn wind. Politian! + +_Pol_. My Lalage--my love! why art thou moved? + Why dost thou turn so pale? Not Conscience self, + Far less a shadow which thou likenest to it, + Should shake the firm spirit thus. But the night wind + Is chilly--and these melancholy boughs + Throw over all things a gloom. + +_Lal_. Politian! + Thou speakest to me of love. Knowest thou the land + With which all tongues are busy--a land new found-- + Miraculously found by one of Genoa-- + A thousand leagues within the golden west? + A fairy land of flowers, and fruit, and sunshine,-- + And crystal lakes, and over-arching forests, + And mountains, around whose towering summits the winds + Of Heaven untrammelled flow--which air to breathe + Is Happiness now, and will be Freedom hereafter + In days that are to come? + +_Pol_. Oh, wilt thou--wilt thou + Fly to that Paradise--my Lalage, wilt thou + Fly thither with me? There Care shall be forgotten, + And Sorrow shall be no more, and Eros be all. + And life shall then be mine, for I will live + For thee, and in thine eyes--and thou shalt be + No more a mourner--but the radiant Joys + Shall wait upon thee, and the angel Hope + Attend thee ever; and I will kneel to thee + And worship thee, and call thee my beloved, + My own, my beautiful, my love, my wife, + My all;--oh, wilt thou--wilt thou, Lalage, + Fly thither with me? + +_Lal_. A deed is to be done-- + Castiglione lives! + +_Pol_. And he shall die! + + (_Exit_.) + +_Lal_. +(_after a pause_). And--he--shall--die!--alas! + Castiglione die? Who spoke the words? + Where am I?--what was it he said?--Politian! + Thou _art_ not gone--thou art not _gone_, Politian! + I _feel_ thou art not gone--yet dare not look, + Lest I behold thee not--thou _couldst_ not go + With those words upon thy lips--oh, speak to me! + And let me hear thy voice--one word--one word, + To say thou art not gone,--one little sentence, + To say how thou dost scorn--how thou dost hate + My womanly weakness. Ha! ha! thou _art_ not gone-- + Oh, speak to me! I _knew_ thou wouldst not go! + I knew thou wouldst not, couldst not, _durst_ not go. + Villain, thou _art_ not gone--thou mockest me! + And thus I clutch thee--thus!--He is gone, he is gone-- + Gone--gone. Where am I?--'tis well--'tis very well! + So that the blade be keen--the blow be sure, + 'Tis well, 'tis _very_ well--alas! alas! + + + + +V. + +The Suburbs. POLITIAN alone. + + +_Politian_. This weakness grows upon me. I am fain + And much I fear me ill--it will not do + To die ere I have lived!--Stay--stay thy hand, + O Azrael, yet awhile!--Prince of the Powers + Of Darkness and the Tomb, oh, pity me! + Oh, pity me! let me not perish now, + In the budding of my Paradisal Hope! + Give me to live yet--yet a little while: + 'Tis I who pray for life--I who so late + Demanded but to die!--What sayeth the Count? + + _Enter Baldazzar_. + +_Baldazzar_. That, knowing no cause of quarrel or of feud + Between the Earl Politian and himself, + He doth decline your cartel. + +_Pol_. _What_ didst thou say? + What answer was it you brought me, good Baldazzar? + With what excessive fragrance the zephyr comes + Laden from yonder bowers!--a fairer day, + Or one more worthy Italy, methinks + No mortal eyes have seen!--_what_ said the Count? + +_Bal_. That he, Castiglione, not being aware + Of any feud existing, or any cause + Of quarrel between your lordship and himself, + Cannot accept the challenge. + +_Pol_. It is most true-- + All this is very true. When saw you, sir, + When saw you now, Baldazzar, in the frigid + Ungenial Britain which we left so lately, + A heaven so calm as this--so utterly free + From the evil taint of clouds?--and he did _say_? + +_Bal_. No more, my lord, than I have told you: + The Count Castiglione will not fight. + Having no cause for quarrel. + +_Pol_. Now this is true-- + All very true. Thou art my friend, Baldazzar, + And I have not forgotten it--thou'lt do me + A piece of service: wilt thou go back and say + Unto this man, that I, the Earl of Leicester, + Hold him a villain?--thus much, I pr'ythee, say + Unto the Count--it is exceeding just + He should have cause for quarrel. + +_Bal_. My lord!--my friend!-- + +_Pol_. (_aside_). 'Tis he--he comes himself! + (_aloud_.) Thou reasonest well. + I know what thou wouldst say--not send the message-- + Well!--I will think of it--I will not send it. + Now pr'ythee, leave me--hither doth come a person + With whom affairs of a most private nature + I would adjust. + +_Bal_. I go--to-morrow we meet, + Do we not?--at the Vatican. + +_Pol_. At the Vatican. + + (_Exit Bal_.) + + _Enter Castiglione_. + +_Cas_. The Earl of Leicester here! + +_Pol_. I _am_ the Earl of Leicester, and thou seest, + Dost thou not, that I am here? + +_Cas_. My lord, some strange, + Some singular mistake--misunderstanding-- + Hath without doubt arisen: thou hast been urged + Thereby, in heat of anger, to address + Some words most unaccountable, in writing, + To me, Castiglione; the bearer being + Baldazzar, Duke of Surrey. I am aware + Of nothing which might warrant thee in this thing, + Having given thee no offence. Ha!--am I right? + 'Twas a mistake?--undoubtedly--we all + Do err at times. + +_Pol_. Draw, villain, and prate no more! + +_Cas_. Ha!--draw?--and villain? have at thee then at once, + Proud Earl! + (_Draws._) + +_Pol_. +(_drawing_.) Thus to the expiatory tomb, + Untimely sepulchre, I do devote thee + In the name of Lalage! + +_Cas_. (_letting fall his sword and recoiling to the extremity of the + stage_.) + Of Lalage! + Hold off--thy sacred hand!--avaunt, I say! + Avaunt--I will not fight thee--indeed I dare not. + +_Pol_. Thou wilt not fight with me didst say, Sir Count? + Shall I be baffled thus?--now this is well; + Didst say thou _darest_ not? Ha! + +_Cas_. I dare not--dare not-- + Hold off thy hand--with that beloved name + So fresh upon thy lips I will not fight thee-- + I cannot--dare not. + +_Pol_. Now, by my halidom, + I do believe thee!--coward, I do believe thee! + +_Cas_. Ha!--coward!--this may not be! +(_clutches his sword and staggers towards Politian, but his purpose is +changed before reaching him, and he falls upon hia knee at the feet of +the Earl._) + Alas! my lord, + It is--it is--most true. In such a cause + I am the veriest coward. Oh, pity me! + +_Pol. +(greatly softened_). Alas!--I do--indeed I pity thee. + +_Cas_. And Lalage-- + +_Pol_. _Scoundrel!--arise and die!_ + +_Cas_. It needeth not be--thus--thus--Oh, let me die + Thus on my bended knee. It were most fitting + That in this deep humiliation I perish. + For in the fight I will not raise a hand + Against thee, Earl of Leicester. Strike thou home-- + (_baring his bosom_.) + Here is no let or hindrance to thy weapon-- + Strike home. I _will not_ fight thee. + +_Pol_. Now's Death and Hell! + Am I not--am I not sorely--grievously tempted + To take thee at thy word? But mark me, sir: + Think not to fly me thus. Do thou prepare + For public insult in the streets--before + The eyes of the citizens. I'll follow thee-- + Like an avenging spirit I'll follow thee + Even unto death. Before those whom thou lovest-- + Before all Rome I'll taunt thee, villain,--I'll taunt + thee, + Dost hear? with _cowardice_--thou _wilt not_ fight me? + Thou liest! thou _shalt_! + + (_Exit_.) + +_Cas_. Now this indeed is just! + Most righteous, and most just, avenging Heaven! + + + +[Footnote 1: By Sir Thomas Wyatt.--Ed.] + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +NOTE ON POLITIAN + +20. Such portions of "Politian" as are known to the public first saw the +light of publicity in the 'Southern Literary Messenger' for December +1835 and January 1836, being styled "Scenes from Politian; an +unpublished drama." These scenes were included, unaltered, in the 1845 +collection of Poems by Poe. The larger portion of the original draft +subsequently became the property of the present editor, but it is not +considered just to the poet's memory to publish it. The work is a hasty +and unrevised production of its author's earlier days of literary labor; +and, beyond the scenes already known, scarcely calculated to enhance his +reputation. As a specimen, however, of the parts unpublished, the +following fragment from the first scene of Act II. may be offered. The +Duke, it should be premised, is uncle to Alessandra, and father of +Castiglione her betrothed. + + + +_Duke_. Why do you laugh? + +_Castiglione_. Indeed. + I hardly know myself. Stay! Was it not + On yesterday we were speaking of the Earl? + Of the Earl Politian? Yes! it was yesterday. + Alessandra, you and I, you must remember! + We were walking in the garden. + +_Duke_. Perfectly. + I do remember it--what of it--what then? + +_Cas_. O nothing--nothing at all. + +_Duke_. Nothing at all! + It is most singular that you should laugh + At nothing at all! + +_Cas_. Most singular--singular! + +_Duke_. Look yon, Castiglione, be so kind + As tell me, sir, at once what 'tis you mean. + What are you talking of? + +_Cas_. Was it not so? + We differed in opinion touching him. + +_Duke_. Him!--Whom? + +_Cas_. Why, sir, the Earl Politian. + +_Duke_. The Earl of Leicester! Yes!--is it he you mean? + We differed, indeed. If I now recollect + The words you used were that the Earl you knew + Was neither learned nor mirthful. + +_Cas_. Ha! ha!--now did I? + +_Duke_. That did you, sir, and well I knew at the time + You were wrong, it being not the character + Of the Earl--whom all the world allows to be + A most hilarious man. Be not, my son, + Too positive again. + +_Cas_. 'Tis singular! + Most singular! I could not think it possible + So little time could so much alter one! + To say the truth about an hour ago, + As I was walking with the Count San Ozzo, + All arm in arm, we met this very man + The Earl--he, with his friend Baldazzar, + Having just arrived in Rome. Ha! ha! he _is_ altered! + Such an account he gave me of his journey! + 'Twould have made you die with laughter--such tales he + told + Of his caprices and his merry freaks + Along the road--such oddity--such humor-- + Such wit--such whim--such flashes of wild merriment + Set off too in such full relief by the grave + Demeanor of his friend--who, to speak the truth + Was gravity itself-- + +_Duke_. Did I not tell you? + +_Cas_. You did--and yet 'tis strange! but true, as strange, + How much I was mistaken! I always thought + The Earl a gloomy man. + +_Duke_. So, so, you see! + Be not too positive. Whom have we here? + It cannot be the Earl? + +_Cas_. The Earl! Oh no! + Tis not the Earl--but yet it is--and leaning + Upon his friend Baldazzar. Ah! welcome, sir! + (_Enter Politian and Baldazzar_.) + My lord, a second welcome let me give you + To Rome--his Grace the Duke of Broglio. + Father! this is the Earl Politian, Earl + Of Leicester in Great Britain. + [_Politian bows haughtily_.] + That, his friend + Baldazzar, Duke of Surrey. The Earl has letters, + So please you, for Your Grace. + +_Duke_. Ha! ha! Most welcome + To Rome and to our palace, Earl Politian! + And you, most noble Duke! I am glad to see you! + I knew your father well, my Lord Politian. + Castiglione! call your cousin hither, + And let me make the noble Earl acquainted + With your betrothed. You come, sir, at a time + Most seasonable. The wedding-- + +_Politian_. Touching those letters, sir, + Your son made mention of--your son, is he not?-- + Touching those letters, sir, I wot not of them. + If such there be, my friend Baldazzar here-- + Baldazzar! ah!--my friend Baldazzar here + Will hand them to Your Grace. I would retire. + +_Duke_. Retire!--so soon? + +_Cas_. What ho! Benito! Rupert! + His lordship's chambers--show his lordship to them! + His lordship is unwell. + + (_Enter Benito_.) + +_Ben_. This way, my lord! + + (_Exit, followed by Politian_.) + +_Duke_. Retire! Unwell! + +_Bal_. So please you, sir. I fear me + 'Tis as you say--his lordship is unwell. + The damp air of the evening--the fatigue + Of a long journey--the--indeed I had better + Follow his lordship. He must be unwell. + I will return anon. + +_Duke_. Return anon! + Now this is very strange! Castiglione! + This way, my son, I wish to speak with thee. + You surely were mistaken in what you said + Of the Earl, mirthful, indeed!--which of us said + Politian was a melancholy man? + + (_Exeunt_.) + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + + POEMS OF YOUTH + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO POEMS.--1831. + + +LETTER TO MR. B--. + +"WEST POINT, 1831 + +"DEAR B-- + +... + +Believing only a portion of my former volume to be worthy a second +edition--that small portion I thought it as well to include in the +present book as to republish by itself. I have therefore herein combined +'Al Aaraaf' and 'Tamerlane' with other poems hitherto unprinted. Nor +have I hesitated to insert from the 'Minor Poems,' now omitted, whole +lines, and even passages, to the end that being placed in a fairer +light, and the trash shaken from them in which they were imbedded, they +may have some chance of being seen by posterity. + +"It has been said that a good critique on a poem may be written by one +who is no poet himself. This, according to _your_ idea and _mine_ of +poetry, I feel to be false--the less poetical the critic, the less just +the critique, and the converse. On this account, and because there are +but few B----s in the world, I would be as much ashamed of the world's +good opinion as proud of your own. Another than yourself might here +observe, 'Shakespeare is in possession of the world's good opinion, and +yet Shakespeare is the greatest of poets. It appears then that the world +judge correctly, why should you be ashamed of their favorable judgment?' +The difficulty lies in the interpretation of the word 'judgment' or +'opinion.' The opinion is the world's, truly, but it may be called +theirs as a man would call a book his, having bought it; he did not +write the book, but it is his; they did not originate the opinion, but +it is theirs. A fool, for example, thinks Shakespeare a great poet--yet +the fool has never read Shakespeare. But the fool's neighbor, who is a +step higher on the Andes of the mind, whose head (that is to say, his +more exalted thought) is too far above the fool to be seen or +understood, but whose feet (by which I mean his every-day actions) are +sufficiently near to be discerned, and by means of which that +superiority is ascertained, which _but_ for them would never have been +discovered--this neighbor asserts that Shakespeare is a great poet--the +fool believes him, and it is henceforward his _opinion_. This neighbor's +own opinion has, in like manner, been adopted from one above _him_, and +so, ascendingly, to a few gifted individuals who kneel around the +summit, beholding, face to face, the master spirit who stands upon the +pinnacle. + +"You are aware of the great barrier in the path of an American writer. +He is read, if at all, in preference to the combined and established wit +of the world. I say established; for it is with literature as with law +or empire--an established name is an estate in tenure, or a throne in +possession. Besides, one might suppose that books, like their authors, +improve by travel--their having crossed the sea is, with us, so great a +distinction. Our antiquaries abandon time for distance; our very fops +glance from the binding to the bottom of the title-page, where the +mystic characters which spell London, Paris, or Genoa, are precisely so +many letters of recommendation. + +"I mentioned just now a vulgar error as regards criticism. I think the +notion that no poet can form a correct estimate of his own writings is +another. I remarked before that in proportion to the poetical talent +would be the justice of a critique upon poetry. Therefore a bad poet +would, I grant, make a false critique, and his self-love would +infallibly bias his little judgment in his favor; but a poet, who is +indeed a poet, could not, I think, fail of making a just critique; +whatever should be deducted on the score of self-love might be replaced +on account of his intimate acquaintance with the subject; in short, we +have more instances of false criticism than of just where one's own +writings are the test, simply because we have more bad poets than good. +There are, of course, many objections to what I say: Milton is a great +example of the contrary; but his opinion with respect to the 'Paradise +Regained' is by no means fairly ascertained. By what trivial +circumstances men are often led to assert what they do not really +believe! Perhaps an inadvertent word has descended to posterity. But, in +fact, the 'Paradise Regained' is little, if at all, inferior to the +'Paradise Lost,' and is only supposed so to be because men do not like +epics, whatever they may say to the contrary, and reading those of +Milton in their natural order, are too much wearied with the first to +derive any pleasure from the second. + +"I dare say Milton preferred 'Comus' to either--if so--justly. + +"As I am speaking of poetry, it will not be amiss to touch slightly upon +the most singular heresy in its modern history--the heresy of what is +called, very foolishly, the Lake School. Some years ago I might have +been induced, by an occasion like the present, to attempt a formal +refutation of their doctrine; at present it would be a work of +supererogation. The wise must bow to the wisdom of such men as Coleridge +and Southey, but being wise, have laughed at poetical theories so +prosaically exemplified. + +"Aristotle, with singular assurance, has declared poetry the most +philosophical of all writings--but it required a Wordsworth to pronounce +it the most metaphysical. He seems to think that the end of poetry is, +or should be, instruction; yet it is a truism that the end of our +existence is happiness; if so, the end of every separate part of our +existence, everything connected with our existence, should be still +happiness. Therefore the end of instruction should be happiness; and +happiness is another name for pleasure;--therefore the end of +instruction should be pleasure: yet we see the above-mentioned opinion +implies precisely the reverse. + +"To proceed: _ceteris paribus_, he who pleases is of more importance to +his fellow-men than he who instructs, since utility is happiness, and +pleasure is the end already obtained which instruction is merely the +means of obtaining. + +"I see no reason, then, why our metaphysical poets should plume +themselves so much on the utility of their works, unless indeed they +refer to instruction with eternity in view; in which case, sincere +respect for their piety would not allow me to express my contempt for +their judgment; contempt which it would be difficult to conceal, since +their writings are professedly to be understood by the few, and it is +the many who stand in need of salvation. In such case I should no doubt +be tempted to think of the devil in 'Melmoth,' who labors indefatigably, +through three octavo volumes, to accomplish the destruction of one or +two souls, while any common devil would have demolished one or two +thousand. + +"Against the subtleties which would make poetry a study--not a +passion--it becomes the metaphysician to reason--but the poet to +protest. Yet Wordsworth and Coleridge are men in years; the one imbued +in contemplation from his childhood; the other a giant in intellect and +learning. The diffidence, then, with which I venture to dispute their +authority would be overwhelming did I not feel, from the bottom of my +heart, that learning has little to do with the imagination--intellect +with the passions--or age with poetry. + + "'Trifles, like straws, upon the surface flow; + He who would search for pearls must dive below,' + +"are lines which have done much mischief. As regards the greater truths, +men oftener err by seeking them at the bottom than at the top; Truth +lies in the huge abysses where wisdom is sought--not in the palpable +palaces where she is found. The ancients were not always right in hiding +the goddess in a well; witness the light which Bacon has thrown upon +philosophy; witness the principles of our divine faith--that moral +mechanism by which the simplicity of a child may overbalance the wisdom +of a man. + +"We see an instance of Coleridge's liability to err, in his 'Biographia +Literaria'--professedly his literary life and opinions, but, in fact, a +treatise 'de omni scibili et quibusdam aliis'. He goes wrong by reason +of his very profundity, and of his error we have a natural type in the +contemplation of a star. He who regards it directly and intensely sees, +it is true, the star, but it is the star without a ray--while he who +surveys it less inquisitively is conscious of all for which the star is +useful to us below--its brilliancy and its beauty. + +"As to Wordsworth, I have no faith in him. That he had in youth the +feelings of a poet I believe--for there are glimpses of extreme delicacy +in his writings--(and delicacy is the poet's own kingdom--his 'El +Dorado')--but they have the appearance of a better day recollected; and +glimpses, at best, are little evidence of present poetic fire; we know +that a few straggling flowers spring up daily in the crevices of the +glacier. + +"He was to blame in wearing away his youth in contemplation with the end +of poetizing in his manhood. With the increase of his judgment the light +which should make it apparent has faded away. His judgment consequently +is too correct. This may not be understood,--but the old Goths of +Germany would have understood it, who used to debate matters of +importance to their State twice, once when drunk, and once when +sober--sober that they might not be deficient in formality--drunk lest +they should be destitute of vigor. + +"The long wordy discussions by which he tries to reason us into +admiration of his poetry, speak very little in his favor: they are full +of such assertions as this (I have opened one of his volumes at +random)--'Of genius the only proof is the act of doing well what is +worthy to be done, and what was never done before;'--indeed? then it +follows that in doing what is 'un'worthy to be done, or what 'has' been +done before, no genius can be evinced; yet the picking of pockets is an +unworthy act, pockets have been picked time immemorial, and Barrington, +the pick-pocket, in point of genius, would have thought hard of a +comparison with William Wordsworth, the poet. + +"Again, in estimating the merit of certain poems, whether they be +Ossian's or Macpherson's can surely be of little consequence, yet, in +order to prove their worthlessness, Mr. W. has expended many pages in +the controversy. 'Tantæne animis?' Can great minds descend to such +absurdity? But worse still: that he may bear down every argument in +favor of these poems, he triumphantly drags forward a passage, in his +abomination with which he expects the reader to sympathise. It is the +beginning of the epic poem 'Temora.' 'The blue waves of Ullin roll in +light; the green hills are covered with day; trees shake their dusty +heads in the breeze.' And this--this gorgeous, yet simple imagery, where +all is alive and panting with immortality--this, William Wordsworth, the +author of 'Peter Bell,' has 'selected' for his contempt. We shall see +what better he, in his own person, has to offer. Imprimis: + + "'And now she's at the pony's tail, + And now she's at the pony's head, + On that side now, and now on this; + And, almost stifled with her bliss, + A few sad tears does Betty shed.... + She pats the pony, where or when + She knows not ... happy Betty Foy! + Oh, Johnny, never mind the doctor!' + +"Secondly: + + "'The dew was falling fast, the--stars began to blink; + I heard a voice: it said,--"Drink, pretty creature, drink!" + And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied + A snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden at its side. + No other sheep was near, the lamb was all alone, + And by a slender cord was tether'd to a stone.' + +"Now, we have no doubt this is all true: we _will_ believe it, +indeed we will, Mr, W. Is it sympathy for the sheep you wish to excite? +I love a sheep from the bottom of my heart. + +"But there are occasions, dear B----, there are occasions when even +Wordsworth is reasonable. Even Stamboul, it is said, shall have an end, +and the most unlucky blunders must come to a conclusion. Here is an +extract from his preface: + + "'Those who have been accustomed to the phraseology of modern writers, + if they persist in reading this book to a conclusion (_impossible!_) + will, no doubt, have to struggle with feelings of awkwardness; (ha! + ha! ha!) they will look round for poetry (ha! ha! ha! ha!), and will + be induced to inquire by what species of courtesy these attempts have + been permitted to assume that title.' Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! + +"Yet, let not Mr. W. despair; he has given immortality to a wagon, and +the bee Sophocles has transmitted to eternity a sore toe, and dignified +a tragedy with a chorus of turkeys. + +"Of Coleridge, I cannot speak but with reverence. His towering +intellect! his gigantic power! To use an author quoted by himself, + + '_J'ai trouvé souvent que la plupart des sectes ont raison dans une + bonne partie de ce qu'elles avancent, mais non pas en ce qu'elles + nient_;' + +and to employ his own language, he has imprisoned his own conceptions by +the barrier he has erected against those of others. It is lamentable to +think that such a mind should be buried in metaphysics, and, like the +Nyctanthes, waste its perfume upon the night alone. In reading that +man's poetry, I tremble like one who stands upon a volcano, conscious +from the very darkness bursting from the crater, of the fire and the +light that are weltering below. + +"What is Poetry?--Poetry! that Proteus-like idea, with as many +appellations as the nine-titled Corcyra! 'Give me,' I demanded of a +scholar some time ago, 'give me a definition of poetry.' +'_Tres-volontiers;_' and he proceeded to his library, brought me a Dr. +Johnson, and overwhelmed me with a definition. Shade of the immortal +Shakespeare! I imagine to myself the scowl of your spiritual eye upon +the profanity of that scurrilous Ursa Major. Think of poetry, dear +B----, think of poetry, and then think of Dr. Samuel Johnson! Think of +all that is airy and fairy-like, and then of all that is hideous and +unwieldy; think of his huge bulk, the Elephant! and then--and then think +of the 'Tempest'--the 'Midsummer Night's Dream'--Prospero--Oberon--and +Titania! + +"A poem, in my opinion, is opposed to a work of science by having, for +its _immediate_ object, pleasure, not truth; to romance, by having, for +its object, an _indefinite_ instead of a _definite_ pleasure, being a +poem only so far as this object is attained; romance presenting +perceptible images with definite, poetry with _in_definite sensations, +to which end music is an _essential_, since the comprehension of sweet +sound is our most indefinite conception. Music, when combined with a +pleasurable idea, is poetry; music, without the idea, is simply music; +the idea, without the music, is prose, from its very definitiveness. + +"What was meant by the invective against him who had no music in his +soul? + +"To sum up this long rigmarole, I have, dear B----, what you, no doubt, +perceive, for the metaphysical poets as poets, the most sovereign +contempt. That they have followers proves nothing: + + "'No Indian prince has to his palace + More followers than a thief to the gallows.'" + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +SONNET--TO SCIENCE. + + + SCIENCE! true daughter of Old Time thou art! + Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. + Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart, + Vulture, whose wings are dull realities + How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise, + Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering + To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies, + Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing! + Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car? + And driven the Hamadryad from the wood + To seek a shelter in some happier star? + Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood, + The Elfin from the green grass, and from me + The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree? + + +1829. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +Private reasons--some of which have reference to the sin of plagiarism, +and others to the date of Tennyson's first poems [1]--have induced me, +after some hesitation, to republish these, the crude compositions of my +earliest boyhood. They are printed 'verbatim'--without alteration from +the original edition--the date of which is too remote to be judiciously +acknowledged.--E. A. P. (1845). + + + +[Footnote 1: This refers to the accusation brought against Edgar Poe +that he was a copyist of Tennyson.--Ed.] + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +AL AARAAF. [1] + + + +PART I. + + + O! nothing earthly save the ray + (Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye, + As in those gardens where the day + Springs from the gems of Circassy-- + O! nothing earthly save the thrill + Of melody in woodland rill-- + Or (music of the passion-hearted) + Joy's voice so peacefully departed + That like the murmur in the shell, + Its echo dwelleth and will dwell-- + O! nothing of the dross of ours-- + Yet all the beauty--all the flowers + That list our Love, and deck our bowers-- + Adorn yon world afar, afar-- + The wandering star. + + 'Twas a sweet time for Nesace--for there + Her world lay lolling on the golden air, + Near four bright suns--a temporary rest-- + An oasis in desert of the blest. + Away away--'mid seas of rays that roll + Empyrean splendor o'er th' unchained soul-- + The soul that scarce (the billows are so dense) + Can struggle to its destin'd eminence-- + To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode, + And late to ours, the favour'd one of God-- + But, now, the ruler of an anchor'd realm, + She throws aside the sceptre--leaves the helm, + And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns, + Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs. + + Now happiest, loveliest in yon lovely Earth, + Whence sprang the "Idea of Beauty" into birth, + (Falling in wreaths thro' many a startled star, + Like woman's hair 'mid pearls, until, afar, + It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt), + She look'd into Infinity--and knelt. + Rich clouds, for canopies, about her curled-- + Fit emblems of the model of her world-- + Seen but in beauty--not impeding sight-- + Of other beauty glittering thro' the light-- + A wreath that twined each starry form around, + And all the opal'd air in color bound. + + All hurriedly she knelt upon a bed + Of flowers: of lilies such as rear'd the head + On the fair Capo Deucato [2], and sprang + So eagerly around about to hang + Upon the flying footsteps of--deep pride-- + Of her who lov'd a mortal--and so died [3]. + The Sephalica, budding with young bees, + Uprear'd its purple stem around her knees: + And gemmy flower, of Trebizond misnam'd [4]-- + Inmate of highest stars, where erst it sham'd + All other loveliness: its honied dew + (The fabled nectar that the heathen knew) + Deliriously sweet, was dropp'd from Heaven, + And fell on gardens of the unforgiven + In Trebizond--and on a sunny flower + So like its own above that, to this hour, + It still remaineth, torturing the bee + With madness, and unwonted reverie: + In Heaven, and all its environs, the leaf + And blossom of the fairy plant, in grief + Disconsolate linger--grief that hangs her head, + Repenting follies that full long have fled, + Heaving her white breast to the balmy air, + Like guilty beauty, chasten'd, and more fair: + Nyctanthes too, as sacred as the light + She fears to perfume, perfuming the night: + And Clytia [5] pondering between many a sun, + While pettish tears adown her petals run: + And that aspiring flower that sprang on Earth [6]-- + And died, ere scarce exalted into birth, + Bursting its odorous heart in spirit to wing + Its way to Heaven, from garden of a king: + And Valisnerian lotus thither flown [7] + From struggling with the waters of the Rhone: + And thy most lovely purple perfume, Zante [8]! + Isola d'oro!--Fior di Levante! + And the Nelumbo bud that floats for ever [9] + With Indian Cupid down the holy river-- + Fair flowers, and fairy! to whose care is given + To bear the Goddess' song, in odors, up to Heaven [10]: + + "Spirit! that dwellest where, + In the deep sky, + The terrible and fair, + In beauty vie! + Beyond the line of blue-- + The boundary of the star + Which turneth at the view + Of thy barrier and thy bar-- + Of the barrier overgone + By the comets who were cast + From their pride, and from their throne + To be drudges till the last-- + To be carriers of fire + (The red fire of their heart) + With speed that may not tire + And with pain that shall not part-- + Who livest--_that_ we know-- + In Eternity--we feel-- + But the shadow of whose brow + What spirit shall reveal? + Tho' the beings whom thy Nesace, + Thy messenger hath known + Have dream'd for thy Infinity + A model of their own [11]-- + Thy will is done, O God! + The star hath ridden high + Thro' many a tempest, but she rode + Beneath thy burning eye; + And here, in thought, to thee-- + In thought that can alone + Ascend thy empire and so be + A partner of thy throne-- + By winged Fantasy [12], + My embassy is given, + Till secrecy shall knowledge be + In the environs of Heaven." + + She ceas'd--and buried then her burning cheek + Abash'd, amid the lilies there, to seek + A shelter from the fervor of His eye; + For the stars trembled at the Deity. + She stirr'd not--breath'd not--for a voice was there + How solemnly pervading the calm air! + A sound of silence on the startled ear + Which dreamy poets name "the music of the sphere." + Ours is a world of words: Quiet we call + "Silence"--which is the merest word of all. + + All Nature speaks, and ev'n ideal things + Flap shadowy sounds from the visionary wings-- + But ah! not so when, thus, in realms on high + The eternal voice of God is passing by, + And the red winds are withering in the sky! + "What tho' in worlds which sightless cycles run [13], + Link'd to a little system, and one sun-- + Where all my love is folly, and the crowd + Still think my terrors but the thunder cloud, + The storm, the earthquake, and the ocean-wrath + (Ah! will they cross me in my angrier path?) + What tho' in worlds which own a single sun + The sands of time grow dimmer as they run, + Yet thine is my resplendency, so given + To bear my secrets thro' the upper Heaven. + Leave tenantless thy crystal home, and fly, + With all thy train, athwart the moony sky-- + Apart--like fire-flies in Sicilian night [14], + And wing to other worlds another light! + Divulge the secrets of thy embassy + To the proud orbs that twinkle--and so be + To ev'ry heart a barrier and a ban + Lest the stars totter in the guilt of man!" + + Up rose the maiden in the yellow night, + The single-mooned eve!-on earth we plight + Our faith to one love--and one moon adore-- + The birth-place of young Beauty had no more. + As sprang that yellow star from downy hours, + Up rose the maiden from her shrine of flowers, + And bent o'er sheeny mountain and dim plain + Her way--but left not yet her Therasæan reign [15]. + + + +PART II. + + + High on a mountain of enamell'd head-- + Such as the drowsy shepherd on his bed + Of giant pasturage lying at his ease, + Raising his heavy eyelid, starts and sees + With many a mutter'd "hope to be forgiven" + What time the moon is quadrated in Heaven-- + Of rosy head, that towering far away + Into the sunlit ether, caught the ray + Of sunken suns at eve--at noon of night, + While the moon danc'd with the fair stranger light-- + Uprear'd upon such height arose a pile + Of gorgeous columns on th' uuburthen'd air, + Flashing from Parian marble that twin smile + Far down upon the wave that sparkled there, + And nursled the young mountain in its lair. + Of molten stars their pavement, such as fall [16] + Thro' the ebon air, besilvering the pall + Of their own dissolution, while they die-- + Adorning then the dwellings of the sky. + A dome, by linked light from Heaven let down, + Sat gently on these columns as a crown-- + A window of one circular diamond, there, + Look'd out above into the purple air + And rays from God shot down that meteor chain + And hallow'd all the beauty twice again, + Save when, between th' Empyrean and that ring, + Some eager spirit flapp'd his dusky wing. + But on the pillars Seraph eyes have seen + The dimness of this world: that grayish green + That Nature loves the best for Beauty's grave + Lurk'd in each cornice, round each architrave-- + And every sculptured cherub thereabout + That from his marble dwelling peered out, + Seem'd earthly in the shadow of his niche-- + Achaian statues in a world so rich? + Friezes from Tadmor and Persepolis [17]-- + From Balbec, and the stilly, clear abyss + Of beautiful Gomorrah! Oh, the wave [18] + Is now upon thee--but too late to save! + Sound loves to revel in a summer night: + Witness the murmur of the gray twilight + That stole upon the ear, in Eyraco [19], + Of many a wild star-gazer long ago-- + That stealeth ever on the ear of him + Who, musing, gazeth on the distance dim, + And sees the darkness coming as a cloud-- + Is not its form--its voice--most palpable and loud? [20] + But what is this?--it cometh--and it brings + A music with it--'tis the rush of wings-- + A pause--and then a sweeping, falling strain, + And Nesace is in her halls again. + From the wild energy of wanton haste + Her cheeks were flushing, and her lips apart; + The zone that clung around her gentle waist + Had burst beneath the heaving of her heart. + Within the centre of that hall to breathe + She paus'd and panted, Zanthe! all beneath, + The fairy light that kiss'd her golden hair + And long'd to rest, yet could but sparkle there! + + Young flowers were whispering in melody [21] + To happy flowers that night--and tree to tree; + Fountains were gushing music as they fell + In many a star-lit grove, or moon-light dell; + Yet silence came upon material things-- + Fair flowers, bright waterfalls and angel wings-- + And sound alone that from the spirit sprang + Bore burthen to the charm the maiden sang: + + "Neath blue-bell or streamer-- + Or tufted wild spray + That keeps, from the dreamer, + The moonbeam away--[22] + Bright beings! that ponder, + With half-closing eyes, + On the stars which your wonder + Hath drawn from the skies, + Till they glance thro' the shade, and + Come down to your brow + Like--eyes of the maiden + Who calls on you now-- + Arise! from your dreaming + In violet bowers, + To duty beseeming + These star-litten hours-- + And shake from your tresses + Encumber'd with dew + + The breath of those kisses + That cumber them too-- + (O! how, without you, Love! + Could angels be blest?) + Those kisses of true love + That lull'd ye to rest! + Up! shake from your wing + Each hindering thing: + The dew of the night-- + It would weigh down your flight; + And true love caresses-- + O! leave them apart! + They are light on the tresses, + But lead on the heart. + + Ligeia! Ligeia! + My beautiful one! + Whose harshest idea + Will to melody run, + O! is it thy will + On the breezes to toss? + Or, capriciously still, + Like the lone Albatross, [23] + Incumbent on night + (As she on the air) + To keep watch with delight + On the harmony there? + + Ligeia! wherever + Thy image may be, + No magic shall sever + Thy music from thee. + Thou hast bound many eyes + In a dreamy sleep-- + But the strains still arise + Which _thy_ vigilance keep-- + + The sound of the rain + Which leaps down to the flower, + And dances again + In the rhythm of the shower-- + The murmur that springs [24] + From the growing of grass + Are the music of things-- + But are modell'd, alas! + Away, then, my dearest, + O! hie thee away + To springs that lie clearest + Beneath the moon-ray-- + To lone lake that smiles, + In its dream of deep rest, + At the many star-isles + That enjewel its breast-- + Where wild flowers, creeping, + Have mingled their shade, + On its margin is sleeping + Full many a maid-- + Some have left the cool glade, and + Have slept with the bee--[25] + Arouse them, my maiden, + On moorland and lea-- + + Go! breathe on their slumber, + All softly in ear, + The musical number + They slumber'd to hear-- + For what can awaken + An angel so soon + Whose sleep hath been taken + Beneath the cold moon, + As the spell which no slumber + Of witchery may test, + The rhythmical number + Which lull'd him to rest?" + + Spirits in wing, and angels to the view, + A thousand seraphs burst th' Empyrean thro', + Young dreams still hovering on their drowsy flight-- + Seraphs in all but "Knowledge," the keen light + That fell, refracted, thro' thy bounds afar, + O death! from eye of God upon that star; + Sweet was that error--sweeter still that death-- + Sweet was that error--ev'n with _us_ the breath + Of Science dims the mirror of our joy-- + To them 'twere the Simoom, and would destroy-- + For what (to them) availeth it to know + That Truth is Falsehood--or that Bliss is Woe? + Sweet was their death--with them to die was rife + With the last ecstasy of satiate life-- + Beyond that death no immortality-- + But sleep that pondereth and is not "to be"-- + And there--oh! may my weary spirit dwell-- + Apart from Heaven's Eternity--and yet how far from Hell! [26] + + What guilty spirit, in what shrubbery dim + Heard not the stirring summons of that hymn? + But two: they fell: for heaven no grace imparts + To those who hear not for their beating hearts. + A maiden-angel and her seraph-lover-- + O! where (and ye may seek the wide skies over) + Was Love, the blind, near sober Duty known? + Unguided Love hath fallen--'mid "tears of perfect moan." [27] + + He was a goodly spirit--he who fell: + A wanderer by mossy-mantled well-- + A gazer on the lights that shine above-- + A dreamer in the moonbeam by his love: + What wonder? for each star is eye-like there, + And looks so sweetly down on Beauty's hair-- + And they, and ev'ry mossy spring were holy + To his love-haunted heart and melancholy. + The night had found (to him a night of wo) + Upon a mountain crag, young Angelo-- + Beetling it bends athwart the solemn sky, + And scowls on starry worlds that down beneath it lie. + Here sate he with his love--his dark eye bent + With eagle gaze along the firmament: + Now turn'd it upon her--but ever then + It trembled to the orb of EARTH again. + + "Ianthe, dearest, see! how dim that ray! + How lovely 'tis to look so far away! + She seemed not thus upon that autumn eve + I left her gorgeous halls--nor mourned to leave, + That eve--that eve--I should remember well-- + The sun-ray dropped, in Lemnos with a spell + On th' Arabesque carving of a gilded hall + Wherein I sate, and on the draperied wall-- + And on my eyelids--O, the heavy light! + How drowsily it weighed them into night! + On flowers, before, and mist, and love they ran + With Persian Saadi in his Gulistan: + But O, that light!--I slumbered--Death, the while, + Stole o'er my senses in that lovely isle + So softly that no single silken hair + Awoke that slept--or knew that he was there. + + "The last spot of Earth's orb I trod upon + Was a proud temple called the Parthenon; [28] + More beauty clung around her columned wall + Then even thy glowing bosom beats withal, [29] + And when old Time my wing did disenthral + Thence sprang I--as the eagle from his tower, + And years I left behind me in an hour. + What time upon her airy bounds I hung, + One half the garden of her globe was flung + Unrolling as a chart unto my view-- + Tenantless cities of the desert too! + Ianthe, beauty crowded on me then, + And half I wished to be again of men." + + "My Angelo! and why of them to be? + A brighter dwelling-place is here for thee-- + And greener fields than in yon world above, + And woman's loveliness--and passionate love." + "But list, Ianthe! when the air so soft + Failed, as my pennoned spirit leapt aloft, [30] + Perhaps my brain grew dizzy--but the world + I left so late was into chaos hurled, + Sprang from her station, on the winds apart, + And rolled a flame, the fiery Heaven athwart. + Methought, my sweet one, then I ceased to soar, + And fell--not swiftly as I rose before, + But with a downward, tremulous motion thro' + Light, brazen rays, this golden star unto! + Nor long the measure of my falling hours, + For nearest of all stars was thine to ours-- + Dread star! that came, amid a night of mirth, + A red Daedalion on the timid Earth." + + "We came--and to thy Earth--but not to us + Be given our lady's bidding to discuss: + We came, my love; around, above, below, + Gay fire-fly of the night we come and go, + Nor ask a reason save the angel-nod + _She_ grants to us as granted by her God-- + But, Angelo, than thine gray Time unfurled + Never his fairy wing o'er fairer world! + Dim was its little disk, and angel eyes + Alone could see the phantom in the skies, + When first Al Aaraaf knew her course to be + Headlong thitherward o'er the starry sea-- + But when its glory swelled upon the sky, + As glowing Beauty's bust beneath man's eye, + We paused before the heritage of men, + And thy star trembled--as doth Beauty then!" + + Thus in discourse, the lovers whiled away + The night that waned and waned and brought no day. + They fell: for Heaven to them no hope imparts + Who hear not for the beating of their hearts. + + +1839. + + + +[Footnote 1: A star was discovered by Tycho Brahe which appeared +suddenly in the heavens--attained, in a few days, a brilliancy +surpassing that of Jupiter--then as suddenly disappeared, and has never +been seen since.] + + +[Footnote 2: On Santa Maura--olim Deucadia.] + + +[Footnote 3: Sappho.] + + +[Footnote 4: This flower is much noticed by Lewenhoeck and Tournefort. +The bee, feeding upon its blossom, becomes intoxicated.] + + +[Footnote: Clytia--the Chrysanthemum Peruvianum, or, to employ a +better-known term, the turnsol--which turns continually towards the sun, +covers itself, like Peru, the country from which it comes, with dewy +clouds which cool and refresh its flowers during the most violent heat +of the day.--'B. de St. Pierre.'] + + +[Footnote 6: There is cultivated in the king's garden at Paris, a +species of serpentine aloe without prickles, whose large and beautiful +flower exhales a strong odor of the vanilla, during the time of its +expansion, which is very short. It does not blow till towards the month +of July--you then perceive it gradually open its petals--expand +them--fade and die.--'St. Pierre'.] + + +[Footnote 7: There is found, in the Rhone, a beautiful lily of the +Valisnerian kind. Its stem will stretch to the length of three or four +feet--thus preserving its head above water in the swellings of the +river.] + + +[Footnote 8: The Hyacinth.] + + +[Footnote 9: It is a fiction of the Indians, that Cupid was first seen +floating in one of these down the river Ganges, and that he still loves +the cradle of his childhood.] + + +[Footnote 10: And golden vials full of odors which are the prayers of +the saints.--'Rev. St. John.'] + + +[Footnote 11: The Humanitarians held that God was to be understood as +having really a human form.--'Vide Clarke's Sermons', vol. I, page 26, +fol. edit. + +The drift of Milton's argument leads him to employ language which would +appear, at first sight, to verge upon their doctrine; but it will be +seen immediately, that he guards himself against the charge of having +adopted one of the most ignorant errors of the dark ages of the +Church.--'Dr. Sumner's Notes on Milton's Christian Doctrine'. + +This opinion, in spite of many testimonies to the contrary, could never +have been very general. Andeus, a Syrian of Mesopotamia, was condemned +for the opinion, as heretical. He lived in the beginning of the fourth +century. His disciples were called Anthropomorphites.--'Vide du Pin'. + +Among Milton's minor poems are these lines: + + + Dicite sacrorum præesides nemorum Dese, etc., + Quis ille primus cujus ex imagine + Natura solers finxit humanum genus? + Eternus, incorruptus, æquævus polo, + Unusque et universus exemplar Dei. + +--And afterwards, + + Non cui profundum Cæcitas lumen dedit + Dircæus augur vidit hunc alto sinu, etc.] + + +[Footnote 12: + + Seltsamen Tochter Jovis + Seinem Schosskinde + Der Phantasie. + +'Goethe'.] + + +[Footnote 13: Sightless--too small to be seen.--'Legge'.] + + +[Footnote 14: I have often noticed a peculiar movement of the +fire-flies; they will collect in a body and fly off, from a common +centre, into innumerable radii.] + + +[Footnote 15: Therasæa, or Therasea, the island mentioned by Seneca, +which, in a moment, arose from the sea to the eyes of astonished +mariners.] + + +[Footnote 16: + + Some star which, from the ruin'd roof + Of shak'd Olympus, by mischance did fall. + +'Milton'.] + + +[Footnote 17: Voltaire, in speaking of Persepolis, says, + + "Je connais bien l'admiration qu'inspirent ces ruines--mais un palais + érigé au pied d'une chaîne de rochers steriles--peut-il être un chef + d'oeuvre des arts!"] + + +[Footnote 18: "Oh, the wave"--Ula Deguisi is the Turkish appellation; +but, on its own shores, it is called Baliar Loth, or Al-motanah. There +were undoubtedly more than two cities engulphed in the "dead sea." In +the valley of Siddim were five--Adrah, Zeboin, Zoar, Sodom and Gomorrah. +Stephen of Byzantium mentions eight, and Strabo thirteen (engulphed) +--but the last is out of all reason. It is said (Tacitus, Strabo, +Josephus, Daniel of St. Saba, Nau, Maundrell, Troilo, D'Arvieux), that +after an excessive drought, the vestiges of columns, walls, etc., are +seen above the surface. At 'any' season, such remains may be discovered +by looking down into the transparent lake, and at such distance as would +argue the existence of many settlements in the space now usurped by the +"Asphaltites."] + + +[Footnote 19: Eyraco-Chaldea.] + + +[Footnote 20: I have often thought I could distinctly hear the sound of +the darkness as it stole over the horizon.] + + +[Footnote 21: + + Fairies use flowers for their charactery. + +'Merry Wives of Windsor'.] + + +[Footnote 22: In Scripture is this passage: + + "The sun shall not harm thee by day, nor the moon by night." + +It is, perhaps, not generally known that the moon, in Egypt, has the +effect of producing blindness to those who sleep with the face exposed +to its rays, to which circumstances the passage evidently +alludes.] + + +[Footnote 23: The Albatross is said to sleep on the wing.] + + +[Footnote 24: I met with this idea in an old English tale, which I am +now unable to obtain and quote from memory: + + "The verie essence and, as it were, springe heade and origine of all + musiche is the verie pleasaunte sounde which the trees of the forest + do make when they growe."] + + +[Footnote 25: The wild bee will not sleep in the shade if there be +moonlight. The rhyme in the verse, as in one about sixty lines before, +has an appearance of affectation. It is, however, imitated from Sir W. +Scott, or rather from Claud Halcro--in whose mouth I admired its effect: + + O! were there an island, + Tho' ever so wild, + Where woman might smile, and + No man be beguil'd, etc. ] + + +[Footnote 26: With the Arabians there is a medium between Heaven and +Hell, where men suffer no punishment, but yet do not attain that +tranquil and even happiness which they suppose to be characteristic of +heavenly enjoyment. + + Un no rompido sueno-- + Un dia puro--allegre--libre + Quiera-- + Libre de amor--de zelo-- + De odio--de esperanza--de rezelo. + +'Luis Ponce de Leon.' + +Sorrow is not excluded from "Al Aaraaf," but it is that sorrow which the +living love to cherish for the dead, and which, in some minds, resembles +the delirium of opium. + +The passionate excitement of Love and the buoyancy of spirit attendant +upon intoxication are its less holy pleasures--the price of which, to +those souls who make choice of "Al Aaraaf" as their residence after +life, is final death and annihilation.] + + +[Footnote 27: + + There be tears of perfect moan + Wept for thee in Helicon. + +'Milton'.] + + +[Footnote 28: It was entire in 1687--the most elevated spot in Athens.] + + +[Footnote 29: + + Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows + Than have the white breasts of the queen of love. + +'Marlowe.'] + + +[Footnote 30: Pennon, for pinion.--'Milton'.] + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +TAMERLANE. + + + Kind solace in a dying hour! + Such, father, is not (now) my theme-- + I will not madly deem that power + Of Earth may shrive me of the sin + Unearthly pride hath revelled in-- + I have no time to dote or dream: + You call it hope--that fire of fire! + It is but agony of desire: + If I _can_ hope--O God! I can-- + Its fount is holier--more divine-- + I would not call thee fool, old man, + But such is not a gift of thine. + + Know thou the secret of a spirit + Bowed from its wild pride into shame + O yearning heart! I did inherit + Thy withering portion with the fame, + The searing glory which hath shone + Amid the Jewels of my throne, + Halo of Hell! and with a pain + Not Hell shall make me fear again-- + O craving heart, for the lost flowers + And sunshine of my summer hours! + The undying voice of that dead time, + With its interminable chime, + Rings, in the spirit of a spell, + Upon thy emptiness--a knell. + + I have not always been as now: + The fevered diadem on my brow + I claimed and won usurpingly-- + Hath not the same fierce heirdom given + Rome to the Cæsar--this to me? + The heritage of a kingly mind, + And a proud spirit which hath striven + Triumphantly with human kind. + On mountain soil I first drew life: + The mists of the Taglay have shed + Nightly their dews upon my head, + And, I believe, the winged strife + And tumult of the headlong air + Have nestled in my very hair. + + So late from Heaven--that dew--it fell + ('Mid dreams of an unholy night) + Upon me with the touch of Hell, + While the red flashing of the light + From clouds that hung, like banners, o'er, + Appeared to my half-closing eye + The pageantry of monarchy; + And the deep trumpet-thunder's roar + Came hurriedly upon me, telling + Of human battle, where my voice, + My own voice, silly child!--was swelling + (O! how my spirit would rejoice, + And leap within me at the cry) + The battle-cry of Victory! + + The rain came down upon my head + Unsheltered--and the heavy wind + Rendered me mad and deaf and blind. + It was but man, I thought, who shed + Laurels upon me: and the rush-- + The torrent of the chilly air + Gurgled within my ear the crush + Of empires--with the captive's prayer-- + The hum of suitors--and the tone + Of flattery 'round a sovereign's throne. + + My passions, from that hapless hour, + Usurped a tyranny which men + Have deemed since I have reached to power, + My innate nature--be it so: + But, father, there lived one who, then, + Then--in my boyhood--when their fire + Burned with a still intenser glow + (For passion must, with youth, expire) + E'en _then_ who knew this iron heart + In woman's weakness had a part. + + I have no words--alas!--to tell + The loveliness of loving well! + Nor would I now attempt to trace + The more than beauty of a face + Whose lineaments, upon my mind, + Are--shadows on th' unstable wind: + Thus I remember having dwelt + Some page of early lore upon, + With loitering eye, till I have felt + The letters--with their meaning--melt + To fantasies--with none. + + O, she was worthy of all love! + Love as in infancy was mine-- + 'Twas such as angel minds above + Might envy; her young heart the shrine + On which my every hope and thought + Were incense--then a goodly gift, + For they were childish and upright-- + Pure--as her young example taught: + Why did I leave it, and, adrift, + Trust to the fire within, for light? + + We grew in age--and love--together-- + Roaming the forest, and the wild; + My breast her shield in wintry weather-- + And, when the friendly sunshine smiled. + And she would mark the opening skies, + _I_ saw no Heaven--but in her eyes. + Young Love's first lesson is----the heart: + For 'mid that sunshine, and those smiles, + When, from our little cares apart, + And laughing at her girlish wiles, + I'd throw me on her throbbing breast, + And pour my spirit out in tears-- + There was no need to speak the rest-- + No need to quiet any fears + Of her--who asked no reason why, + But turned on me her quiet eye! + + Yet _more_ than worthy of the love + My spirit struggled with, and strove + When, on the mountain peak, alone, + Ambition lent it a new tone-- + I had no being--but in thee: + The world, and all it did contain + In the earth--the air--the sea-- + Its joy--its little lot of pain + That was new pleasure--the ideal, + Dim, vanities of dreams by night-- + And dimmer nothings which were real-- + (Shadows--and a more shadowy light!) + Parted upon their misty wings, + And, so, confusedly, became + Thine image and--a name--a name! + Two separate--yet most intimate things. + + I was ambitious--have you known + The passion, father? You have not: + A cottager, I marked a throne + Of half the world as all my own, + And murmured at such lowly lot-- + But, just like any other dream, + Upon the vapor of the dew + My own had past, did not the beam + Of beauty which did while it thro' + The minute--the hour--the day--oppress + My mind with double loveliness. + + We walked together on the crown + Of a high mountain which looked down + Afar from its proud natural towers + Of rock and forest, on the hills-- + The dwindled hills! begirt with bowers + And shouting with a thousand rills. + + I spoke to her of power and pride, + But mystically--in such guise + That she might deem it nought beside + The moment's converse; in her eyes + I read, perhaps too carelessly-- + A mingled feeling with my own-- + The flush on her bright cheek, to me + Seemed to become a queenly throne + Too well that I should let it be + Light in the wilderness alone. + + I wrapped myself in grandeur then, + And donned a visionary crown-- + Yet it was not that Fantasy + Had thrown her mantle over me-- + But that, among the rabble--men, + Lion ambition is chained down-- + And crouches to a keeper's hand-- + Not so in deserts where the grand-- + The wild--the terrible conspire + With their own breath to fan his fire. + + Look 'round thee now on Samarcand!-- + Is she not queen of Earth? her pride + Above all cities? in her hand + Their destinies? in all beside + Of glory which the world hath known + Stands she not nobly and alone? + Falling--her veriest stepping-stone + Shall form the pedestal of a throne-- + And who her sovereign? Timour--he + Whom the astonished people saw + Striding o'er empires haughtily + A diademed outlaw! + + O, human love! thou spirit given, + On Earth, of all we hope in Heaven! + Which fall'st into the soul like rain + Upon the Siroc-withered plain, + And, failing in thy power to bless, + But leav'st the heart a wilderness! + Idea! which bindest life around + With music of so strange a sound + And beauty of so wild a birth-- + Farewell! for I have won the Earth. + + When Hope, the eagle that towered, could see + No cliff beyond him in the sky, + His pinions were bent droopingly-- + And homeward turned his softened eye. + 'Twas sunset: When the sun will part + There comes a sullenness of heart + To him who still would look upon + The glory of the summer sun. + That soul will hate the ev'ning mist + So often lovely, and will list + To the sound of the coming darkness (known + To those whose spirits hearken) as one + Who, in a dream of night, _would_ fly, + But _cannot_, from a danger nigh. + + What tho' the moon--tho' the white moon + Shed all the splendor of her noon, + _Her_ smile is chilly--and _her_ beam, + In that time of dreariness, will seem + (So like you gather in your breath) + A portrait taken after death. + And boyhood is a summer sun + Whose waning is the dreariest one-- + For all we live to know is known, + And all we seek to keep hath flown-- + Let life, then, as the day-flower, fall + With the noon-day beauty--which is all. + I reached my home--my home no more-- + For all had flown who made it so. + I passed from out its mossy door, + And, tho' my tread was soft and low, + A voice came from the threshold stone + Of one whom I had earlier known-- + O, I defy thee, Hell, to show + On beds of fire that burn below, + An humbler heart--a deeper woe. + + Father, I firmly do believe-- + I _know_--for Death who comes for me + From regions of the blest afar, + Where there is nothing to deceive, + Hath left his iron gate ajar. + And rays of truth you cannot see + Are flashing thro' Eternity---- + I do believe that Eblis hath + A snare in every human path-- + Else how, when in the holy grove + I wandered of the idol, Love,-- + Who daily scents his snowy wings + With incense of burnt-offerings + From the most unpolluted things, + Whose pleasant bowers are yet so riven + Above with trellised rays from Heaven + No mote may shun--no tiniest fly-- + The light'ning of his eagle eye-- + How was it that Ambition crept, + Unseen, amid the revels there, + Till growing bold, he laughed and leapt + In the tangles of Love's very hair! + + + +1829. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +TO HELEN. + + + Helen, thy beauty is to me + Like those Nicean barks of yore, + That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, + The weary, wayworn wanderer bore + To his own native shore. + + On desperate seas long wont to roam, + Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, + Thy Naiad airs have brought me home + To the glory that was Greece, + To the grandeur that was Rome. + + Lo! in yon brilliant window niche, + How statue-like I see thee stand, + The agate lamp within thy hand! + Ah, Psyche, from the regions which + Are Holy Land! + +1831. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE VALLEY OF UNREST. + + + _Once_ it smiled a silent dell + Where the people did not dwell; + They had gone unto the wars, + Trusting to the mild-eyed stars, + Nightly, from their azure towers, + To keep watch above the flowers, + In the midst of which all day + The red sun-light lazily lay, + _Now_ each visitor shall confess + The sad valley's restlessness. + Nothing there is motionless-- + Nothing save the airs that brood + Over the magic solitude. + Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees + That palpitate like the chill seas + Around the misty Hebrides! + Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven + That rustle through the unquiet Heaven + Unceasingly, from morn till even, + Over the violets there that lie + In myriad types of the human eye-- + Over the lilies that wave + And weep above a nameless grave! + They wave:--from out their fragrant tops + Eternal dews come down in drops. + They weep:--from off their delicate stems + Perennial tears descend in gems. + + +1831. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +ISRAFEL. [1] + + + In Heaven a spirit doth dwell + "Whose heart-strings are a lute;" + None sing so wildly well + As the angel Israfel, + And the giddy Stars (so legends tell), + Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell + Of his voice, all mute. + + Tottering above + In her highest noon, + The enamoured Moon + Blushes with love, + While, to listen, the red levin + (With the rapid Pleiads, even, + Which were seven), + Pauses in Heaven. + + And they say (the starry choir + And the other listening things) + That Israfeli's fire + Is owing to that lyre + By which he sits and sings-- + The trembling living wire + Of those unusual strings. + + But the skies that angel trod, + Where deep thoughts are a duty-- + Where Love's a grow-up God-- + Where the Houri glances are + Imbued with all the beauty + Which we worship in a star. + + Therefore, thou art not wrong, + Israfeli, who despisest + An unimpassioned song; + To thee the laurels belong, + Best bard, because the wisest! + Merrily live and long! + + The ecstasies above + With thy burning measures suit-- + Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, + With the fervor of thy lute-- + Well may the stars be mute! + + Yes, Heaven is thine; but this + Is a world of sweets and sours; + Our flowers are merely--flowers, + And the shadow of thy perfect bliss + Is the sunshine of ours. + + If I could dwell + Where Israfel + Hath dwelt, and he where I, + He might not sing so wildly well + A mortal melody, + While a bolder note than this might swell + From my lyre within the sky. + + +1836. + + + +[Footnote 1: + + And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who has the + sweetest voice of all God's creatures. + +'Koran'.] + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +TO---- + + + I heed not that my earthly lot + Hath--little of Earth in it-- + That years of love have been forgot + In the hatred of a minute:-- + I mourn not that the desolate + Are happier, sweet, than I, + But that _you_ sorrow for _my_ fate + Who am a passer-by. + + +1829. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +TO---- + + + The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see + The wantonest singing birds, + + Are lips--and all thy melody + Of lip-begotten words-- + + Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined + Then desolately fall, + O God! on my funereal mind + Like starlight on a pall-- + + Thy heart--_thy_ heart!--I wake and sigh, + And sleep to dream till day + Of the truth that gold can never buy-- + Of the baubles that it may. + + +1829. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +TO THE RIVER + + + Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow + Of crystal, wandering water, + Thou art an emblem of the glow + Of beauty--the unhidden heart-- + The playful maziness of art + In old Alberto's daughter; + + But when within thy wave she looks-- + Which glistens then, and trembles-- + Why, then, the prettiest of brooks + Her worshipper resembles; + For in his heart, as in thy stream, + Her image deeply lies-- + His heart which trembles at the beam + Of her soul-searching eyes. + + +1829. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +SONG. + + + I saw thee on thy bridal day-- + When a burning blush came o'er thee, + Though happiness around thee lay, + The world all love before thee: + + And in thine eye a kindling light + (Whatever it might be) + Was all on Earth my aching sight + Of Loveliness could see. + + That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame-- + As such it well may pass-- + Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame + In the breast of him, alas! + + Who saw thee on that bridal day, + When that deep blush _would_ come o'er thee, + Though happiness around thee lay, + The world all love before thee. + + +1827. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +SPIRITS OF THE DEAD. + + + Thy soul shall find itself alone + 'Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone + Not one, of all the crowd, to pry + Into thine hour of secrecy. + Be silent in that solitude + Which is not loneliness--for then + The spirits of the dead who stood + In life before thee are again + In death around thee--and their will + Shall overshadow thee: be still. + The night--tho' clear--shall frown-- + And the stars shall not look down + From their high thrones in the Heaven, + With light like Hope to mortals given-- + But their red orbs, without beam, + To thy weariness shall seem + As a burning and a fever + Which would cling to thee forever. + Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish-- + Now are visions ne'er to vanish-- + From thy spirit shall they pass + No more--like dew-drops from the grass. + The breeze--the breath of God--is still-- + And the mist upon the hill + Shadowy--shadowy--yet unbroken, + Is a symbol and a token-- + How it hangs upon the trees, + A mystery of mysteries! + + +1837. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +A DREAM. + + + In visions of the dark night + I have dreamed of joy departed-- + But a waking dream of life and light + Hath left me broken-hearted. + + Ah! what is not a dream by day + To him whose eyes are cast + On things around him with a ray + Turned back upon the past? + + That holy dream--that holy dream, + While all the world were chiding, + Hath cheered me as a lovely beam, + A lonely spirit guiding. + + What though that light, thro' storm and night, + So trembled from afar-- + What could there be more purely bright + In Truth's day star? + + +1837. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +ROMANCE. + + + Romance, who loves to nod and sing, + With drowsy head and folded wing, + Among the green leaves as they shake + Far down within some shadowy lake, + To me a painted paroquet + Hath been--a most familiar bird-- + Taught me my alphabet to say-- + To lisp my very earliest word + While in the wild wood I did lie, + A child--with a most knowing eye. + + Of late, eternal Condor years + So shake the very Heaven on high + With tumult as they thunder by, + I have no time for idle cares + Though gazing on the unquiet sky. + And when an hour with calmer wings + Its down upon my spirit flings-- + That little time with lyre and rhyme + To while away--forbidden things! + My heart would feel to be a crime + Unless it trembled with the strings. + + +1829. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +FAIRYLAND. + + + Dim vales--and shadowy floods-- + And cloudy-looking woods, + Whose forms we can't discover + For the tears that drip all over + Huge moons there wax and wane-- + Again--again--again-- + Every moment of the night-- + Forever changing places-- + And they put out the star-light + With the breath from their pale faces. + About twelve by the moon-dial + One more filmy than the rest + (A kind which, upon trial, + They have found to be the best) + Comes down--still down--and down + With its centre on the crown + Of a mountain's eminence, + While its wide circumference + In easy drapery falls + Over hamlets, over halls, + Wherever they may be-- + O'er the strange woods--o'er the sea-- + Over spirits on the wing-- + Over every drowsy thing-- + And buries them up quite + In a labyrinth of light-- + And then, how deep!--O, deep! + Is the passion of their sleep. + In the morning they arise, + And their moony covering + Is soaring in the skies, + With the tempests as they toss, + Like--almost any thing-- + Or a yellow Albatross. + They use that moon no more + For the same end as before-- + Videlicet a tent-- + Which I think extravagant: + Its atomies, however, + Into a shower dissever, + Of which those butterflies, + Of Earth, who seek the skies, + And so come down again + (Never-contented thing!) + Have brought a specimen + Upon their quivering wings. + + +1831 + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE LAKE. + + + In spring of youth it was my lot + To haunt of the wide world a spot + The which I could not love the less-- + So lovely was the loneliness + Of a wild lake, with black rock bound, + And the tall pines that towered around. + + But when the Night had thrown her pall + Upon the spot, as upon all, + And the mystic wind went by + Murmuring in melody-- + Then--ah, then, I would awake + To the terror of the lone lake. + + Yet that terror was not fright, + But a tremulous delight-- + A feeling not the jewelled mine + Could teach or bribe me to define-- + Nor Love--although the Love were thine. + + Death was in that poisonous wave, + And in its gulf a fitting grave + For him who thence could solace bring + To his lone imagining-- + Whose solitary soul could make + An Eden of that dim lake. + + +1827. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +EVENING STAR. + + + 'Twas noontide of summer, + And midtime of night, + And stars, in their orbits, + Shone pale, through the light + Of the brighter, cold moon. + 'Mid planets her slaves, + Herself in the Heavens, + Her beam on the waves. + + I gazed awhile + On her cold smile; + Too cold--too cold for me-- + There passed, as a shroud, + A fleecy cloud, + And I turned away to thee, + Proud Evening Star, + In thy glory afar + And dearer thy beam shall be; + For joy to my heart + Is the proud part + Thou bearest in Heaven at night, + And more I admire + Thy distant fire, + Than that colder, lowly light. + + +1827. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +IMITATION. + + + A dark unfathomed tide + Of interminable pride-- + A mystery, and a dream, + Should my early life seem; + I say that dream was fraught + With a wild and waking thought + Of beings that have been, + Which my spirit hath not seen, + Had I let them pass me by, + With a dreaming eye! + Let none of earth inherit + That vision on my spirit; + Those thoughts I would control, + As a spell upon his soul: + For that bright hope at last + And that light time have past, + And my wordly rest hath gone + With a sigh as it passed on: + I care not though it perish + With a thought I then did cherish. + + +1827. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +"THE HAPPIEST DAY." + + + I. The happiest day--the happiest hour + My seared and blighted heart hath known, + The highest hope of pride and power, + I feel hath flown. + + + II. Of power! said I? Yes! such I ween + But they have vanished long, alas! + The visions of my youth have been-- + But let them pass. + + + III. And pride, what have I now with thee? + Another brow may ev'n inherit + The venom thou hast poured on me-- + Be still my spirit! + + + IV. The happiest day--the happiest hour + Mine eyes shall see--have ever seen + The brightest glance of pride and power + I feel have been: + + + V. But were that hope of pride and power + Now offered with the pain + Ev'n _then_ I felt--that brightest hour + I would not live again: + + VI. For on its wing was dark alloy + And as it fluttered--fell + An essence--powerful to destroy + A soul that knew it well. + + +1827. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +Translation from the Greek. + + +HYMN TO ARISTOGEITON AND HARMODIUS. + + + I. Wreathed in myrtle, my sword I'll conceal, + Like those champions devoted and brave, + When they plunged in the tyrant their steel, + And to Athens deliverance gave. + + II. Beloved heroes! your deathless souls roam + In the joy breathing isles of the blest; + Where the mighty of old have their home-- + Where Achilles and Diomed rest. + + III. In fresh myrtle my blade I'll entwine, + Like Harmodius, the gallant and good, + When he made at the tutelar shrine + A libation of Tyranny's blood. + + IV. Ye deliverers of Athens from shame! + Ye avengers of Liberty's wrongs! + Endless ages shall cherish your fame, + Embalmed in their echoing songs! + +1827 + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +DREAMS. + + + Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream! + My spirit not awakening, till the beam + Of an Eternity should bring the morrow. + Yes! though that long dream were of hopeless sorrow, + 'Twere better than the cold reality + Of waking life, to him whose heart must be, + And hath been still, upon the lovely earth, + A chaos of deep passion, from his birth. + But should it be--that dream eternally + Continuing--as dreams have been to me + In my young boyhood--should it thus be given, + 'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven. + For I have revelled when the sun was bright + I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light + And loveliness,--have left my very heart + Inclines of my imaginary apart [1] + From mine own home, with beings that have been + Of mine own thought--what more could I have seen? + 'Twas once--and only once--and the wild hour + From my remembrance shall not pass--some power + Or spell had bound me--'twas the chilly wind + Came o'er me in the night, and left behind + Its image on my spirit--or the moon + Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon + Too coldly--or the stars--howe'er it was + That dream was that that night-wind--let it pass. + _I have been_ happy, though in a dream. + I have been happy--and I love the theme: + Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life + As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife + Of semblance with reality which brings + To the delirious eye, more lovely things + Of Paradise and Love--and all my own!-- + Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known. + + + +[Footnote 1: In climes of mine imagining apart?--Ed.] + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +"IN YOUTH I HAVE KNOWN ONE." + + + _How often we forget all time, when lone + Admiring Nature's universal throne; + Her woods--her wilds--her mountains--the intense + Reply of Hers to Our intelligence!_ + + +I. In youth I have known one with whom the Earth + In secret communing held--as he with it, + In daylight, and in beauty, from his birth: + Whose fervid, flickering torch of life was lit + From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth + A passionate light such for his spirit was fit-- + And yet that spirit knew--not in the hour + Of its own fervor--what had o'er it power. + + +II. Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought + To a ferver [1] by the moonbeam that hangs o'er, + But I will half believe that wild light fraught + With more of sovereignty than ancient lore + Hath ever told--or is it of a thought + The unembodied essence, and no more + That with a quickening spell doth o'er us pass + As dew of the night-time, o'er the summer grass? + + +III. Doth o'er us pass, when, as th' expanding eye + To the loved object--so the tear to the lid + Will start, which lately slept in apathy? + And yet it need not be--(that object) hid + From us in life--but common--which doth lie + Each hour before us--but then only bid + With a strange sound, as of a harp-string broken + T' awake us--'Tis a symbol and a token-- + + +IV. Of what in other worlds shall be--and given + In beauty by our God, to those alone + Who otherwise would fall from life and Heaven + Drawn by their heart's passion, and that tone, + That high tone of the spirit which hath striven + Though not with Faith--with godliness--whose throne + With desperate energy 't hath beaten down; + Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown. + + + +[Footnote 1: Query "fervor"?--Ed.] + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +A PÆAN. + + + +I. How shall the burial rite be read? + The solemn song be sung? + The requiem for the loveliest dead, + That ever died so young? + + +II. Her friends are gazing on her, + And on her gaudy bier, + And weep!--oh! to dishonor + Dead beauty with a tear! + + +III. They loved her for her wealth-- + And they hated her for her pride-- + But she grew in feeble health, + And they _love_ her--that she died. + + +IV. They tell me (while they speak + Of her "costly broider'd pall") + That my voice is growing weak-- + That I should not sing at all-- + + +V. Or that my tone should be + Tun'd to such solemn song + So mournfully--so mournfully, + That the dead may feel no wrong. + + +VI. But she is gone above, + With young Hope at her side, + And I am drunk with love + Of the dead, who is my bride.-- + +VII. Of the dead--dead who lies + All perfum'd there, + With the death upon her eyes. + And the life upon her hair. + + +VIII. Thus on the coffin loud and long + I strike--the murmur sent + Through the gray chambers to my song, + Shall be the accompaniment. + + +IX. Thou diedst in thy life's June-- + But thou didst not die too fair: + Thou didst not die too soon, + Nor with too calm an air. + + +X. From more than friends on earth, + Thy life and love are riven, + To join the untainted mirth + Of more than thrones in heaven.-- + + +XI. Therefore, to thee this night + I will no requiem raise, + But waft thee on thy flight, + With a Pæan of old days. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +NOTES. + +30. On the "Poems written in Youth" little comment is needed. This +section includes the pieces printed for the first volume of 1827 (which +was subsequently suppressed), such poems from the first and second +published volumes of 1829 and 1831 as have not already been given in +their revised versions, and a few others collected from various sources. + +"Al Aaraaf" first appeared, with the sonnet "To Silence" prefixed to it, +in 1829, and is, substantially, as originally issued. In the edition for +1831, however, this poem, its author's longest, was introduced by the +following twenty-nine lines, which have been omitted in all subsequent +collections: + + +AL AARAAF. + + + Mysterious star! + Thou wert my dream + All a long summer night-- + Be now my theme! + By this clear stream, + Of thee will I write; + Meantime from afar + Bathe me in light! + + Thy world has not the dross of ours, + Yet all the beauty--all the flowers + That list our love or deck our bowers + In dreamy gardens, where do lie + Dreamy maidens all the day; + While the silver winds of Circassy + On violet couches faint away. + Little--oh! little dwells in thee + Like unto what on earth we see: + Beauty's eye is here the bluest + In the falsest and untruest-- + On the sweetest air doth float + The most sad and solemn note-- + If with thee be broken hearts, + Joy so peacefully departs, + That its echo still doth dwell, + Like the murmur in the shell. + Thou! thy truest type of grief + Is the gently falling leaf-- + Thou! thy framing is so holy + Sorrow is not melancholy. + + + + * * * * * + + + +31. The earliest version of "Tamerlane" was included in the suppressed +volume of 1827, but differs very considerably from the poem as now +published. The present draft, besides innumerable verbal alterations and +improvements upon the original, is more carefully punctuated, and, the +lines being indented, presents a more pleasing appearance, to the eye at +least. + + + + * * * * * + + + +32. "To Helen" first appeared in the 1831 volume, as did also "The +Valley of Unrest" (as "The Valley Nis"), "Israfel," and one or two +others of the youthful pieces. + +The poem styled "Romance" constituted the Preface of the 1829 volume, +but with the addition of the following lines: + + + Succeeding years, too wild for song, + Then rolled like tropic storms along, + Where, though the garish lights that fly + Dying along the troubled sky, + Lay bare, through vistas thunder-riven, + The blackness of the general Heaven, + That very blackness yet doth fling + Light on the lightning's silver wing. + + For being an idle boy lang syne, + Who read Anacreon and drank wine, + I early found Anacreon rhymes + Were almost passionate sometimes-- + And by strange alchemy of brain + His pleasures always turned to pain-- + His naïveté to wild desire-- + His wit to love--his wine to fire-- + And so, being young and dipt in folly, + I fell in love with melancholy. + + And used to throw my earthly rest + And quiet all away in jest-- + I could not love except where Death + Was mingling his with Beauty's breath-- + Or Hymen, Time, and Destiny, + Were stalking between her and me. + + * * * * * + + But _now_ my soul hath too much room-- + Gone are the glory and the gloom-- + The black hath mellow'd into gray, + And all the fires are fading away. + + My draught of passion hath been deep-- + I revell'd, and I now would sleep-- + And after drunkenness of soul + Succeeds the glories of the bowl-- + An idle longing night and day + To dream my very life away. + + But dreams--of those who dream as I, + Aspiringly, are damned, and die: + Yet should I swear I mean alone, + By notes so very shrilly blown, + To break upon Time's monotone, + While yet my vapid joy and grief + Are tintless of the yellow leaf-- + Why not an imp the greybeard hath, + Will shake his shadow in my path-- + And e'en the greybeard will o'erlook + Connivingly my dreaming-book. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + + DOUBTFUL POEMS. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +ALONE. + + + From childhood's hour I have not been + As others were--I have not seen + As others saw--I could not bring + My passions from a common spring-- + From the same source I have not taken + My sorrow--I could not awaken + My heart to joy at the same tone-- + And all I loved--_I_ loved alone-- + _Thou_--in my childhood--in the dawn + Of a most stormy life--was drawn + From every depth of good and ill + The mystery which binds me still-- + From the torrent, or the fountain-- + From the red cliff of the mountain-- + From the sun that round me roll'd + In its autumn tint of gold-- + From the lightning in the sky + As it passed me flying by-- + From the thunder and the storm-- + And the cloud that took the form + (When the rest of Heaven was blue) + Of a demon in my view. + + +March 17, 1829. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +TO ISADORE. + + +I. Beneath the vine-clad eaves, + Whose shadows fall before + Thy lowly cottage door-- + Under the lilac's tremulous leaves-- + Within thy snowy clasped hand + The purple flowers it bore. + Last eve in dreams, I saw thee stand, + Like queenly nymph from Fairy-land-- + Enchantress of the flowery wand, + Most beauteous Isadore! + + +II. And when I bade the dream + Upon thy spirit flee, + Thy violet eyes to me + Upturned, did overflowing seem + With the deep, untold delight + Of Love's serenity; + Thy classic brow, like lilies white + And pale as the Imperial Night + Upon her throne, with stars bedight, + Enthralled my soul to thee! + + +III. Ah! ever I behold + Thy dreamy, passionate eyes, + Blue as the languid skies + Hung with the sunset's fringe of gold; + Now strangely clear thine image grows, + And olden memories + Are startled from their long repose + Like shadows on the silent snows + When suddenly the night-wind blows + Where quiet moonlight lies. + + +IV. Like music heard in dreams, + Like strains of harps unknown, + Of birds for ever flown,-- + Audible as the voice of streams + That murmur in some leafy dell, + I hear thy gentlest tone, + And Silence cometh with her spell + Like that which on my tongue doth dwell, + When tremulous in dreams I tell + My love to thee alone! + +V. In every valley heard, + Floating from tree to tree, + Less beautiful to me, + The music of the radiant bird, + Than artless accents such as thine + Whose echoes never flee! + Ah! how for thy sweet voice I pine:-- + For uttered in thy tones benign + (Enchantress!) this rude name of mine + Doth seem a melody! + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE VILLAGE STREET. + + + In these rapid, restless shadows, + Once I walked at eventide, + When a gentle, silent maiden, + Walked in beauty at my side. + She alone there walked beside me + All in beauty, like a bride. + + Pallidly the moon was shining + On the dewy meadows nigh; + On the silvery, silent rivers, + On the mountains far and high,-- + On the ocean's star-lit waters, + Where the winds a-weary die. + + Slowly, silently we wandered + From the open cottage door, + Underneath the elm's long branches + To the pavement bending o'er; + Underneath the mossy willow + And the dying sycamore. + + With the myriad stars in beauty + All bedight, the heavens were seen, + Radiant hopes were bright around me, + Like the light of stars serene; + Like the mellow midnight splendor + Of the Night's irradiate queen. + + Audibly the elm-leaves whispered + Peaceful, pleasant melodies, + Like the distant murmured music + Of unquiet, lovely seas; + While the winds were hushed in slumber + In the fragrant flowers and trees. + + Wondrous and unwonted beauty + Still adorning all did seem, + While I told my love in fables + 'Neath the willows by the stream; + Would the heart have kept unspoken + Love that was its rarest dream! + + Instantly away we wandered + In the shadowy twilight tide, + She, the silent, scornful maiden, + Walking calmly at my side, + With a step serene and stately, + All in beauty, all in pride. + + Vacantly I walked beside her. + On the earth mine eyes were cast; + Swift and keen there came unto me + Bitter memories of the past-- + On me, like the rain in Autumn + On the dead leaves, cold and fast. + + Underneath the elms we parted, + By the lowly cottage door; + One brief word alone was uttered-- + Never on our lips before; + And away I walked forlornly, + Broken-hearted evermore. + + Slowly, silently I loitered, + Homeward, in the night, alone; + Sudden anguish bound my spirit, + That my youth had never known; + Wild unrest, like that which cometh + When the Night's first dream hath flown. + + Now, to me the elm-leaves whisper + Mad, discordant melodies, + And keen melodies like shadows + Haunt the moaning willow trees, + And the sycamores with laughter + Mock me in the nightly breeze. + + Sad and pale the Autumn moonlight + Through the sighing foliage streams; + And each morning, midnight shadow, + Shadow of my sorrow seems; + Strive, O heart, forget thine idol! + And, O soul, forget thy dreams! + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE FOREST REVERIE. + + + 'Tis said that when + The hands of men + Tamed this primeval wood, + And hoary trees with groans of wo, + Like warriors by an unknown foe, + Were in their strength subdued, + The virgin Earth + Gave instant birth + To springs that ne'er did flow-- + That in the sun + Did rivulets run, + And all around rare flowers did blow-- + The wild rose pale + Perfumed the gale, + And the queenly lily adown the dale + (Whom the sun and the dew + And the winds did woo), + With the gourd and the grape luxuriant grew. + + So when in tears + The love of years + Is wasted like the snow, + And the fine fibrils of its life + By the rude wrong of instant strife + Are broken at a blow-- + Within the heart + Do springs upstart + Of which it doth now know, + And strange, sweet dreams, + Like silent streams + That from new fountains overflow, + With the earlier tide + Of rivers glide + Deep in the heart whose hope has died-- + Quenching the fires its ashes hide,-- + Its ashes, whence will spring and grow + Sweet flowers, ere long,-- + The rare and radiant flowers of song! + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +NOTES. + + +Of the many verses from time to time ascribed to the pen of Edgar Poe, +and not included among his known writings, the lines entitled "Alone" +have the chief claim to our notice. 'Fac-simile' copies of this piece +had been in possession of the present editor some time previous to its +publication in 'Scribner's Magazine' for September 1875; but as proofs +of the authorship claimed for it were not forthcoming, he refrained from +publishing it as requested. The desired proofs have not yet been +adduced, and there is, at present, nothing but internal evidence to +guide us. "Alone" is stated to have been written by Poe in the album of +a Baltimore lady (Mrs. Balderstone?), on March 17th, 1829, and the +'fac-simile' given in 'Scribner's' is alleged to be of his handwriting. +If the caligraphy be Poe's, it is different in all essential respects +from all the many specimens known to us, and strongly resembles that of +the writer of the heading and dating of the manuscript, both of which +the contributor of the poem acknowledges to have been recently added. +The lines, however, if not by Poe, are the most successful imitation of +his early mannerisms yet made public, and, in the opinion of one well +qualified to speak, "are not unworthy on the whole of the parentage +claimed for them." + +Whilst Edgar Poe was editor of the 'Broadway Journal', some lines "To +Isadore" appeared therein, and, like several of his known pieces, bore +no signature. They were at once ascribed to Poe, and in order to satisfy +questioners, an editorial paragraph subsequently appeared, saying they +were by "A. Ide, junior." Two previous poems had appeared in the +'Broadway Journal' over the signature of "A. M. Ide," and whoever wrote +them was also the author of the lines "To Isadore." In order, doubtless, +to give a show of variety, Poe was then publishing some of his known +works in his journal over 'noms de plume', and as no other writings +whatever can be traced to any person bearing the name of "A. M. Ide," it +is not impossible that the poems now republished in this collection may +be by the author of "The Raven." Having been published without his usual +elaborate revision, Poe may have wished to hide his hasty work under an +assumed name. The three pieces are included in the present collection, +so the reader can judge for himself what pretensions they possess to be +by the author of "The Raven." + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + + PROSE POEMS. + + + + + + * * * * * + +THE ISLAND OF THE FAY. + + + "Nullus enim locus sine genio est." + + _Servius_. + + +"_La musique_," says Marmontel, in those "Contes Moraux"[1] which in all +our translations we have insisted upon calling "Moral Tales," as if in +mockery of their spirit--"_la musique est le seul des talens qui jouisse +de lui-meme: tous les autres veulent des temoins_." He here confounds +the pleasure derivable from sweet sounds with the capacity for creating +them. No more than any other _talent_, is that for music susceptible of +complete enjoyment where there is no second party to appreciate its +exercise; and it is only in common with other talents that it produces +_effects_ which may be fully enjoyed in solitude. The idea which the +_raconteur_ has either failed to entertain clearly, or has sacrificed in +its expression to his national love of _point_, is doubtless the very +tenable one that the higher order of music is the most thoroughly +estimated when we are exclusively alone. The proposition in this form +will be admitted at once by those who love the lyre for its own sake and +for its spiritual uses. But there is one pleasure still within the reach +of fallen mortality, and perhaps only one, which owes even more than +does music to the accessory sentiment of seclusion. I mean the happiness +experienced in the contemplation of natural scenery. In truth, the man +who would behold aright the glory of God upon earth must in solitude +behold that glory. To me at least the presence, not of human life only, +but of life, in any other form than that of the green things which grow +upon the soil and are voiceless, is a stain upon the landscape, is at +war with the genius of the scene. I love, indeed, to regard the dark +valleys, and the gray rocks, and the waters that silently smile, and the +forests that sigh in uneasy slumbers, and the proud watchful mountains +that look down upon all,--I love to regard these as themselves but the +colossal members of one vast animate and sentient whole--a whole whose +form (that of the sphere) is the most perfect and most inclusive of all; +whose path is among associate planets; whose meek handmaiden is the +moon; whose mediate sovereign is the sun; whose life is eternity; whose +thought is that of a god; whose enjoyment is knowledge; whose destinies +are lost in immensity; whose cognizance of ourselves is akin with our +own cognizance of the _animalculæ_ which infest the brain, a being which +we in consequence regard as purely inanimate and material, much in the +same manner as these _animalculæ_ must thus regard us. + +Our telescopes and our mathematical investigations assure us on every +hand, notwithstanding the cant of the more ignorant of the priesthood, +that space, and therefore that bulk, is an important consideration in +the eyes of the Almighty. The cycles in which the stars move are those +best adapted for the evolution, without collision, of the greatest +possible number of bodies. The forms of those bodies are accurately such +as within a given surface to include the greatest possible amount of +matter; while the surfaces themselves are so disposed as to accommodate +a denser population than could be accommodated on the same surfaces +otherwise arranged. Nor is it any argument against bulk being an object +with God that space itself is infinite; for there may be an infinity of +matter to fill it; and since we see clearly that the endowment of matter +with vitality is a principle--indeed, as far as our judgments extend, +the _leading_ principle in the operations of Deity, it is scarcely +logical to imagine it confined to the regions of the minute, where we +daily trace it, and not extending to those of the august. As we find +cycle within cycle without end, yet all revolving around one far-distant +centre which is the Godhead, may we not analogically suppose, in the +same manner, life within life, the less within the greater, and all +within the Spirit Divine? In short, we are madly erring through +self-esteem in believing man, in either his temporal or future +destinies, to be of more moment in the universe than that vast "clod of +the valley" which he tills and contemns, and to which he denies a soul, +for no more profound reason than that he does not behold it in operation +[2]. + +These fancies, and such as these, have always given to my meditations +among the mountains and the forests, by the rivers and the ocean, a +tinge of what the every-day world would not fail to term the fantastic. +My wanderings amid such scenes have been many and far-searching, and +often solitary; and the interest with which I have strayed through many +a dim deep valley, or gazed into the reflected heaven of many a bright +lake, has been an interest greatly deepened by the thought that I have +strayed and gazed _alone._ What flippant Frenchman [3] was it who said, +in allusion to the well known work of Zimmermann, that _"la solitude est +une belle chose; mais il faut quelqu'un pour vous dire que la solitude +est une belle chose"_? The epigram cannot be gainsaid; but the necessity +is a thing that does not exist. + +It was during one of my lonely journeyings, amid a far distant region of +mountain locked within mountain, and sad rivers and melancholy tarns +writhing or sleeping within all, that I chanced upon a certain rivulet +and island. I came upon them suddenly in the leafy June, and threw +myself upon the turf beneath the branches of an unknown odorous shrub, +that I might doze as I contemplated the scene. I felt that thus only +should I look upon it, such was the character of phantasm which it wore. + +On all sides, save to the west where the sun was about sinking, arose +the verdant walls of the forest. The little river which turned sharply +in its course, and was thus immediately lost to sight, seemed to have no +exit from its prison, but to be absorbed by the deep green foliage of +the trees to the east; while in the opposite quarter (so it appeared to +me as I lay at length and glanced upward) there poured down noiselessly +and continuously into the valley a rich golden and crimson waterfall +from the sunset fountains of the sky. + +About midway in the short vista which my dreamy vision took in, one +small circular island, profusely verdured, reposed upon the bosom of the +stream. + + So blended bank and shadow there, + That each seemed pendulous in air-- + +so mirror-like was the glassy water, that it was scarcely possible to +say at what point upon the slope of the emerald turf its crystal +dominion began. My position enabled me to include in a single view both +the eastern and western extremities of the islet, and I observed a +singularly-marked difference in their aspects. The latter was all one +radiant harem of garden beauties. It glowed and blushed beneath the eye +of the slant sunlight, and fairly laughed with flowers. The grass was +short, springy, sweet-scented, and Asphodel-interspersed. The trees were +lithe, mirthful, erect, bright, slender, and graceful, of eastern figure +and foliage, with bark smooth, glossy, and parti-colored. There seemed a +deep sense of life and joy about all, and although no airs blew from out +the heavens, yet everything had motion through the gentle sweepings to +and fro of innumerable butterflies, that might have been mistaken for +tulips with wings [4]. + +The other or eastern end of the isle was whelmed in the blackest shade. +A sombre, yet beautiful and peaceful gloom, here pervaded all things. +The trees were dark in color and mournful in form and attitude-- +wreathing themselves into sad, solemn, and spectral shapes, that +conveyed ideas of mortal sorrow and untimely death. The grass wore the +deep tint of the cypress, and the heads of its blades hung droopingly, +and hither and thither among it were many small unsightly hillocks, low +and narrow, and not very long, that had the aspect of graves, but were +not, although over and all about them the rue and the rosemary +clambered. The shades of the trees fell heavily upon the water, and +seemed to bury itself therein, impregnating the depths of the element +with darkness. I fancied that each shadow, as the sun descended lower +and lower, separated itself sullenly from the trunk that gave it birth, +and thus became absorbed by the stream, while other shadows issued +momently from the trees, taking the place of their predecessors thus +entombed. + +This idea having once seized upon my fancy greatly excited it, and I +lost myself forthwith in reverie. "If ever island were enchanted," said +I to myself, "this is it. This is the haunt of the few gentle Fays who +remain from the wreck of the race. Are these green tombs theirs?--or do +they yield up their sweet lives as mankind yield up their own? In dying, +do they not rather waste away mournfully, rendering unto God little by +little their existence, as these trees render up shadow after shadow, +exhausting their substance unto dissolution? What the wasting tree is to +the water that imbibes its shade, growing thus blacker by what it preys +upon, may not the life of the Fay be to the death which engulfs it?" + +As I thus mused, with half-shut eyes, while the sun sank rapidly to +rest, and eddying currents careered round and round the island, bearing +upon their bosom large dazzling white flakes of the bark of the +sycamore, flakes which, in their multiform positions upon the water, a +quick imagination might have converted into anything it pleased; while I +thus mused, it appeared to me that the form of one of those very Fays +about whom I had been pondering, made its way slowly into the darkness +from out the light at the western end of the island. She stood erect in +a singularly fragile canoe, and urged it with the mere phantom of an +oar. While within the influence of the lingering sunbeams, her attitude +seemed indicative of joy, but sorrow deformed it as she passed within +the shade. Slowly she glided along, and at length rounded the islet and +re-entered the region of light. "The revolution which has just been made +by the Fay," continued I musingly, "is the cycle of the brief year of +her life. She has floated through her winter and through her summer. She +is a year nearer unto death: for I did not fail to see that as she came +into the shade, her shadow fell from her, and was swallowed up in the +dark water, making its blackness more black." + +And again the boat appeared and the Fay, but about the attitude of the +latter there was more of care and uncertainty and less of elastic joy. +She floated again from out the light and into the gloom (which deepened +momently), and again her shadow fell from her into the ebony water, and +became absorbed into its blackness. And again and again she made the +circuit of the island (while the sun rushed down to his slumbers), and +at each issuing into the light there was more sorrow about her person, +while it grew feebler and far fainter and more indistinct, and at each +passage into the gloom there fell from her a darker shade, which became +whelmed in a shadow more black. But at length, when the sun had utterly +departed, the Fay, now the mere ghost of her former self, went +disconsolately with her boat into the region of the ebony flood, and +that she issued thence at all I cannot say, for darkness fell over all +things, and I beheld her magical figure no more. + + + +[Footnote 1: Moraux is here derived from _moeurs_, and its meaning is +"_fashionable_," or, more strictly, "of manners."] + + +[Footnote 2: Speaking of the tides, Pomponius Mela, in his treatise, +'De Sitû Orbis', says, + + "Either the world is a great animal, or," etc.] + + +[Footnote 3: Balzac, in substance; I do not remember the words.] + + +[Footnote 4: + + "Florem putares nare per liquidum æthera." + +'P. Commire'.] + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE POWER OF WORDS. + + +'Oinos.' + + Pardon, Agathos, the weakness of a spirit new-fledged with + immortality! + + +'Agathos.' + + You have spoken nothing, my Oinos, for which pardon is to be demanded. + Not even here is knowledge a thing of intuition. For wisdom, ask of + the angels freely, that it may be given! + + +'Oinos.' + + But in this existence I dreamed that I should be at once cognizant of + all things, and thus at once happy in being cognizant of all. + + +'Agathos.' + + Ah, not in knowledge is happiness, but in the acquisition of + knowledge! In forever knowing, we are forever blessed; but to know + all, were the curse of a fiend. + + +'Oinos.' + + But does not The Most High know all? + + +'Agathos'. + + _That_ (since he is The Most Happy) must be still the _one_ thing + unknown even to HIM. + + +'Oinos.' + + But, since we grow hourly in knowledge, must not _at last_ all things + be known? + + +'Agathos.' + + Look down into the abysmal distances!--attempt to force the gaze down + the multitudinous vistas of the stars, as we sweep slowly through them + thus--and thus--and thus! Even the spiritual vision, is it not at all + points arrested by the continuous golden walls of the universe?--the + walls of the myriads of the shining bodies that mere number has + appeared to blend into unity? + + +'Oinos'. + + I clearly perceive that the infinity of matter is no dream. + + +'Agathos'. + + There are no dreams in Aidenn--but it is here whispered that, of this + infinity of matter, the _sole_ purpose is to afford infinite springs + at which the soul may allay the thirst _to know_ which is forever + unquenchable within it--since to quench it would be to extinguish the + soul's self. Question me then, my Oinos, freely and without fear. + Come! we will leave to the left the loud harmony of the Pleiades, and + swoop outward from the throne into the starry meadows beyond Orion, + where, for pansies and violets, and heart's-ease, are the beds of the + triplicate and triple-tinted suns. + + +'Oinos'. + + And now, Agathos, as we proceed, instruct me!--speak to me in the + earth's familiar tones! I understand not what you hinted to me just + now of the modes or of the methods of what during mortality, we were + accustomed to call Creation. Do you mean to say that the Creator is + not God? + + +'Agathos'. + + I mean to say that the Deity does not create. + + +'Oinos'. + + Explain! + + +'Agathos'. + + In the beginning only, he created. The seeming creatures which are now + throughout the universe so perpetually springing into being can only + be considered as the mediate or indirect, not as the direct or + immediate results of the Divine creative power. + + +'Oinos.' + + Among men, my Agathos, this idea would be considered heretical in the + extreme. + + +'Agathos.' + + Among the angels, my Oinos, it is seen to be simply true. + + +'Oinos.' + + I can comprehend you thus far--that certain operations of what we term + Nature, or the natural laws, will, under certain conditions, give rise + to that which has all the _appearance_ of creation. Shortly before the + final overthrow of the earth, there were, I well remember, many very + successful experiments in what some philosophers were weak enough to + denominate the creation of animalculæ. + + +'Agathos.' + + The cases of which you speak were, in fact, instances of the secondary + creation, and of the _only_ species of creation which has ever been + since the first word spoke into existence the first law. + + +'Oinos.' + + Are not the starry worlds that, from the abyss of nonentity, burst + hourly forth into the heavens--are not these stars, Agathos, the + immediate handiwork of the King? + + +'Agathos.' + + Let me endeavor, my Oinos, to lead you, step by step, to the + conception I intend. You are well aware that, as no thought can + perish, so no act is without infinite result. We moved our hands, for + example, when we were dwellers on the earth, and in so doing we gave + vibration to the atmosphere which engirdled it. This vibration was + indefinitely extended till it gave impulse to every particle of the + earth's air, which thenceforward, _and forever_, was actuated by the + one movement of the hand. This fact the mathematicians of our globe + well knew. They made the special effects, indeed, wrought in the fluid + by special impulses, the subject of exact calculation--so that it + became easy to determine in what precise period an impulse of given + extent would engirdle the orb, and impress (forever) every atom of the + atmosphere circumambient. Retrograding, they found no difficulty; from + a given effect, under given conditions, in determining the value of + the original impulse. Now the mathematicians who saw that the results + of any given impulse were absolutely endless--and who saw that a + portion of these results were accurately traceable through the agency + of algebraic analysis--who saw, too, the facility of the + retrogradation--these men saw, at the same time, that this species of + analysis itself had within itself a capacity for indefinite + progress--that there were no bounds conceivable to its advancement and + applicability, except within the intellect of him who advanced or + applied it. But at this point our mathematicians paused. + + +'Oinos.' + + And why, Agathos, should they have proceeded? + + +'Agathos.' + + Because there were some considerations of deep interest beyond. It was + deducible from what they knew, that to a being of infinite + understanding--one to whom the _perfection_ of the algebraic analysis + lay unfolded--there could be no difficulty in tracing every impulse + given the air--and the ether through the air--to the remotest + consequences at any even infinitely remote epoch of time. It is indeed + demonstrable that every such impulse _given the air_, must _in the + end_ impress every individual thing that exists _within the + universe;_--and the being of infinite understanding--the being whom + we have imagined--might trace the remote undulations of the + impulse--trace them upward and onward in their influences upon all + particles of all matter--upward and onward forever in their + modifications of old forms--or, in other words, _in their creation of + new_--until he found them reflected--unimpressive _at last_--back from + the throne of the Godhead. And not only could such a being do this, + but at any epoch, should a given result be afforded him--should one of + these numberless comets, for example, be presented to his + inspection--he could have no difficulty in determining, by the + analytic retrogradation, to what original impulse it was due. This + power of retrogradation in its absolute fulness and perfection--this + faculty of referring at _all_ epochs, _all_ effects to _all_ + causes--is of course the prerogative of the Deity alone--but in every + variety of degree, short of the absolute perfection, is the power + itself exercised by the whole host of the Angelic Intelligences. + + +'Oinos'. + + But you speak merely of impulses upon the air. + + +'Agathos'. + + In speaking of the air, I referred only to the earth: but the general + proposition has reference to impulses upon the ether--which, since it + pervades, and alone pervades all space, is thus the great medium of + _creation_. + + +'Oinos'. + + Then all motion, of whatever nature, creates? + + +'Agathos'. + + It must: but a true philosophy has long taught that the source of all + motion is thought--and the source of all thought is-- + + +'Oinos'. + + God. + + +'Agathos'. + + I have spoken to you, Oinos, as to a child, of the fair Earth which + lately perished--of impulses upon the atmosphere of the earth. + + +'Oinos'. + + You did. + + +'Agathos'. + + And while I thus spoke, did there not cross your mind some thought of + the _physical power of words_? Is not every word an impulse on the + air? + + +'Oinos'. + + But why, Agathos, do you weep--and why, oh, why do your wings droop as + we hover above this fair star--which is the greenest and yet most + terrible of all we have encountered in our flight? Its brilliant + flowers look like a fairy dream--but its fierce volcanoes like the + passions of a turbulent heart. + + +'Agathos'. + + They _are_!--they _are_!--This wild star--it is now three centuries + since, with clasped hands, and with streaming eyes, at the feet of my + beloved--I spoke it--with a few passionate sentences--into birth. Its + brilliant flowers _are_ the dearest of all unfulfilled dreams, and its + raging volcanoes _are_ the passions of the most turbulent and + unhallowed of hearts! + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA. + + + [Greek: Mellonta sauta'] + + These things are in the future. + + _Sophocles_--'Antig.' + + + +'Una.' + + "Born again?" + + +'Monos.' + + Yes, fairest and best beloved Una, "born again." These were the words + upon whose mystical meaning I had so long pondered, rejecting the + explanations of the priesthood, until Death itself resolved for me the + secret. + + +'Una.' + + Death! + + +'Monos.' + + How strangely, sweet _Una_, you echo my words! I observe, too, a + vacillation in your step, a joyous inquietude in your eyes. You are + confused and oppressed by the majestic novelty of the Life Eternal. + Yes, it was of Death I spoke. And here how singularly sounds that word + which of old was wont to bring terror to all hearts, throwing a mildew + upon all pleasures! + + +'Una.' + + Ah, Death, the spectre which sate at all feasts! How often, Monos, did + we lose ourselves in speculations upon its nature! How mysteriously + did it act as a check to human bliss, saying unto it, "thus far, and + no farther!" That earnest mutual love, my own Monos, which burned + within our bosoms, how vainly did we flatter ourselves, feeling happy + in its first upspringing that our happiness would strengthen with its + strength! Alas, as it grew, so grew in our hearts the dread of that + evil hour which was hurrying to separate us forever! Thus in time it + became painful to love. Hate would have been mercy then. + + +'Monos'. + + Speak not here of these griefs, dear Una--mine, mine forever now! + + +'Una'. + + But the memory of past sorrow, is it not present joy? I have much to + say yet of the things which have been. Above all, I burn to know the + incidents of your own passage through the dark Valley and Shadow. + + +'Monos'. + + And when did the radiant Una ask anything of her Monos in vain? I will + be minute in relating all, but at what point shall the weird narrative + begin? + + +'Una'. + + At what point? + + +'Monos'. + + You have said. + + +'Una'. + + Monos, I comprehend you. In Death we have both learned the propensity + of man to define the indefinable. I will not say, then, commence with + the moment of life's cessation--but commence with that sad, sad + instant when, the fever having abandoned you, you sank into a + breathless and motionless torpor, and I pressed down your pallid + eyelids with the passionate fingers of love. + + +'Monos'. + + One word first, my Una, in regard to man's general condition at this + epoch. You will remember that one or two of the wise among our + forefathers--wise in fact, although not in the world's esteem--had + ventured to doubt the propriety of the term "improvement," as applied + to the progress of our civilization. There were periods in each of the + five or six centuries immediately preceding our dissolution when arose + some vigorous intellect, boldly contending for those principles whose + truth appears now, to our disenfranchised reason, so utterly obvious + --principles which should have taught our race to submit to the + guidance of the natural laws rather than attempt their control. At + long intervals some master-minds appeared, looking upon each advance + in practical science as a retrogradation in the true utility. + Occasionally the poetic intellect--that intellect which we now feel to + have been the most exalted of all--since those truths which to us were + of the most enduring importance could only be reached by that + _analogy_ which speaks in proof-tones to the imagination alone, and to + the unaided reason bears no weight--occasionally did this poetic + intellect proceed a step farther in the evolving of the vague idea of + the philosophic, and find in the mystic parable that tells of the tree + of knowledge, and of its forbidden fruit, death-producing, a distinct + intimation that knowledge was not meet for man in the infant condition + of his soul. And these men--the poets--living and perishing amid the + scorn of the "utilitarians"--of rough pedants, who arrogated to + themselves a title which could have been properly applied only to the + scorned--these men, the poets, pondered piningly, yet not unwisely, + upon the ancient days when our wants were not more simple than our + enjoyments were keen--days when _mirth_ was a word unknown, so + solemnly deep-toned was happiness--holy, august, and blissful days, + blue rivers ran undammed, between hills unhewn, into far forest + solitudes, primeval, odorous, and unexplored. Yet these noble + exceptions from the general misrule served but to strengthen it by + opposition. Alas! we had fallen upon the most evil of all our evil + days. The great "movement"--that was the cant term--went on: a + diseased commotion, moral and physical. Art--the Arts--arose supreme, + and once enthroned, cast chains upon the intellect which had elevated + them to power. Man, because he could not but acknowledge the majesty + of Nature, fell into childish exultation at his acquired and + still-increasing dominion over her elements. Even while he stalked a + God in his own fancy, an infantine imbecility came over him. As might + be supposed from the origin of his disorder, he grew infected with + system, and with abstraction. He enwrapped himself in generalities. + Among other odd ideas, that of universal equality gained ground; and + in the face of analogy and of God--in despite of the loud warning + voice of the laws of _gradation_ so visibly pervading all things in + Earth and Heaven--wild attempts at an omniprevalent Democracy were + made. Yet this evil sprang necessarily from the leading evil, + Knowledge. Man could not both know and succumb. Meantime huge smoking + cities arose, innumerable. Green leaves shrank before the hot breath + of furnaces. The fair face of Nature was deformed as with the ravages + of some loathsome disease. And methinks, sweet Una, even our + slumbering sense of the forced and of the far-fetched might have + arrested us here. But now it appears that we had worked out our own + destruction in the perversion of our _taste_, or rather in the blind + neglect of its culture in the schools. For, in truth, it was at this + crisis that taste alone--that faculty which, holding a middle position + between the pure intellect and the moral sense, could never safely + have been disregarded--it was now that taste alone could have led us + gently back to Beauty, to Nature, and to Life. But alas for the pure + contemplative spirit and majestic intuition of Plato! Alas for the + [Greek: mousichae] which he justly regarded as an all-sufficient + education for the soul! Alas for him and for it!--since both were most + desperately needed, when both were most entirely forgotten or despised + [1]. Pascal, a philosopher whom we both love, has said, how + truly!--"_Que tout notre raisonnement se réduit à céder au + sentiment;_" and it is not impossible that the sentiment of the + natural, had time permitted it, would have regained its old ascendency + over the harsh mathematical reason of the schools. But this thing was + not to be. Prematurely induced by intemperance of knowledge, the old + age of the world drew near. This the mass of mankind saw not, or, + living lustily although unhappily, affected not to see. But, for + myself, the Earth's records had taught me to look for widest ruin as + the price of highest civilization. I had imbibed a prescience of our + Fate from comparison of China the simple and enduring, with Assyria + the architect, with Egypt the astrologer, with Nubia, more crafty than + either, the turbulent mother of all Arts. In the history of these + regions I met with a ray from the Future. The individual + artificialities of the three latter were local diseases of the Earth, + and in their individual overthrows we had seen local remedies applied; + but for the infected world at large I could anticipate no regeneration + save in death. That man, as a race, should not become extinct, I saw + that he must be "_born again._" + + And now it was, fairest and dearest, that we wrapped our spirits, + daily, in dreams. Now it was that, in twilight, we discoursed of the + days to come, when the Art-scarred surface of the Earth, having + undergone that purification which alone could efface its rectangular + obscenities, should clothe itself anew in the verdure and the + mountain-slopes and the smiling waters of Paradise, and be rendered at + length a fit dwelling-place for man:--for man the Death-purged--for + man to whose now exalted intellect there should be poison in knowledge + no more--for the redeemed, regenerated, blissful, and now immortal, + but still for the _material_, man. + + +'Una'. + + Well do I remember these conversations, dear Monos; but the epoch of + the fiery overthrow was not so near at hand as we believed, and as the + corruption you indicate did surely warrant us in believing. Men lived; + and died individually. You yourself sickened, and passed into the + grave; and thither your constant Una speedily followed you. And though + the century which has since elapsed, and whose conclusion brings up + together once more, tortured our slumbering senses with no impatience + of duration, yet my Monos, it was a century still. + + +'Monos'. + + Say, rather, a point in the vague infinity. Unquestionably, it was in + the Earth's dotage that I died. Wearied at heart with anxieties which + had their origin in the general turmoil and decay, I succumbed to the + fierce fever. After some few days of pain, and many of dreamy delirium + replete with ecstasy, the manifestations of which you mistook for + pain, while I longed but was impotent to undeceive you--after some + days there came upon me, as you have said, a breathless and motionless + torpor; and this was termed _Death_ by those who stood around me. + + Words are vague things. My condition did not deprive me of sentience. + It appeared to me not greatly dissimilar to the extreme quiescence of + him, who, having slumbered long and profoundly, lying motionless and + fully prostrate in a mid-summer noon, begins to steal slowly back into + consciousness, through the mere sufficiency of his sleep, and without + being awakened by external disturbances. + + I breathed no longer. The pulses were still. The heart had ceased to + beat. Volition had not departed, but was powerless. The senses were + unusually active, although eccentrically so--assuming often each + other's functions at random. The taste and the smell were inextricably + confounded, and became one sentiment, abnormal and intense. The + rose-water with which your tenderness had moistened my lips to the + last, affected me with sweet fancies of flowers--fantastic flowers, + far more lovely than any of the old Earth, but whose prototypes we + have here blooming around us. The eye-lids, transparent and bloodless, + offered no complete impediment to vision. As volition was in abeyance, + the balls could not roll in their sockets--but all objects within the + range of the visual hemisphere were seen with more or less + distinctness; the rays which fell upon the external retina, or into + the corner of the eye, producing a more vivid effect than those which + struck the front or interior surface. Yet, in the former instance, + this effect was so far anomalous that I appreciated it only as + _sound_--sound sweet or discordant as the matters presenting + themselves at my side were light or dark in shade--curved or angular + in outline. The hearing, at the same time, although excited in degree, + was not irregular in action--estimating real sounds with an + extravagance of precision, not less than of sensibility. Touch had + undergone a modification more peculiar. Its impressions were tardily + received, but pertinaciously retained, and resulted always in the + highest physical pleasure. Thus the pressure of your sweet fingers + upon my eyelids, at first only recognized through vision, at length, + long after their removal, filled my whole being with a sensual delight + immeasurable. I say with a sensual delight. _All_ my perceptions were + purely sensual. The materials furnished the passive brain by the + senses were not in the least degree wrought into shape by the deceased + understanding. Of pain there was some little; of pleasure there was + much; but of moral pain or pleasure none at all. Thus your wild sobs + floated into my ear with all their mournful cadences, and were + appreciated in their every variation of sad tone; but they were soft + musical sounds and no more; they conveyed to the extinct reason no + intimation of the sorrows which gave them birth; while large and + constant tears which fell upon my face, telling the bystanders of a + heart which broke, thrilled every fibre of my frame with ecstasy + alone. And this was in truth the _Death_ of which these bystanders + spoke reverently, in low whispers--you, sweet Una, gaspingly, with + loud cries. + + They attired me for the coffin--three or four dark figures which + flitted busily to and fro. As these crossed the direct line of my + vision they affected me as _forms;_ but upon passing to my side their + images impressed me with the idea of shrieks, groans, and, other + dismal expressions of terror, of horror, or of woe. You alone, habited + in a white robe, passed in all directions musically about. + + The day waned; and, as its light faded away, I became possessed by a + vague uneasiness--an anxiety such as the sleeper feels when sad real + sounds fall continuously within his ear--low distant bell-tones, + solemn, at long but equal intervals, and commingling with melancholy + dreams. Night arrived; and with its shadows a heavy discomfort. It + oppressed my limbs with the oppression of some dull weight, and was + palpable. There was also a moaning sound, not unlike the distant + reverberation of surf, but more continuous, which, beginning with the + first twilight, had grown in strength with the darkness. Suddenly + lights were brought into the rooms, and this reverberation became + forthwith interrupted into frequent unequal bursts of the same sound, + but less dreary and less distinct. The ponderous oppression was in a + great measure relieved; and, issuing from the flame of each lamp (for + there were many), there flowed unbrokenly into my ears a strain of + melodious monotone. And when now, dear Una, approaching the bed upon + which I lay outstretched, you sat gently by my side, breathing odor + from your sweet lips, and pressing them upon my brow, there arose + tremulously within my bosom, and mingling with the merely physical + sensations which circumstances had called forth, a something akin to + sentiment itself--a feeling that, half appreciating, half responded + to your earnest love and sorrow; but this feeling took no root in the + pulseless heart, and seemed indeed rather a shadow than a reality, and + faded quickly away, first into extreme quiescence, and then into a + purely sensual pleasure as before. + + And now, from the wreck and the chaos of the usual senses, there + appeared to have arisen within me a sixth, all perfect. In its + exercise I found a wild delight--yet a delight still physical, + inasmuch as the understanding had in it no part. Motion in the animal + frame had fully ceased. No muscle quivered; no nerve thrilled; no + artery throbbed. But there seemed to have sprung up in the brain + _that_ of which no words could convey to the merely human intelligence + even an indistinct conception. Let me term it a mental pendulous + pulsation. It was the moral embodiment of man's abstract idea of + _Time_. By the absolute equalization of this movement--or of such as + this--had the cycles of the firmamental orbs themselves been adjusted. + By its aid I measured the irregularities of the clock upon the mantel, + and of the watches of the attendants. Their tickings came sonorously + to my ears. The slightest deviations from the true proportion--and + these deviations were omniprevalent--affected me just as violations of + abstract truth were wont on earth to affect the moral sense. Although + no two of the timepieces in the chamber struck the individual seconds + accurately together, yet I had no difficulty in holding steadily in + mind the tones, and the respective momentary errors of each. And + this--this keen, perfect self-existing sentiment of _duration_--this + sentiment existing (as man could not possibly have conceived it to + exist) independently of any succession of events--this idea--this + sixth sense, upspringing from the ashes of the rest, was the first + obvious and certain step of the intemporal soul upon the threshold of + the temporal eternity. + + It was midnight; and you still sat by my side. All others had departed + from the chamber of Death. They had deposited me in the coffin. The + lamps burned flickeringly; for this I knew by the tremulousness of the + monotonous strains. But suddenly these strains diminished in + distinctness and in volume. Finally they ceased. The perfume in my + nostrils died away. Forms affected my vision no longer. The oppression + of the Darkness uplifted itself from my bosom. A dull shot like that + of electricity pervaded my frame, and was followed by total loss of + the idea of contact. All of what man has termed sense was merged in + the sole consciousness of entity, and in the one abiding sentiment of + duration. The mortal body had been at length stricken with the hand of + the deadly _Decay_. + + Yet had not all of sentience departed; for the consciousness and the + sentiment remaining supplied some of its functions by a lethargic + intuition. I appreciated the direful change now in operation upon the + flesh, and, as the dreamer is sometimes aware of the bodily presence + of one who leans over him, so, sweet Una, I still dully felt that you + sat by my side. So, too, when the noon of the second day came, I was + not unconscious of those movements which displaced you from my side, + which confined me within the coffin, which deposited me within the + hearse, which bore me to the grave, which lowered me within it, which + heaped heavily the mould upon me, and which thus left me, in blackness + and corruption, to my sad and solemn slumbers with the worm. + + And here in the prison-house which has few secrets to disclose, there + rolled away days and weeks and months; and the soul watched narrowly + each second as it flew, and, without effort, took record of its + flight--without effort and without object. + + A year passed. The consciousness of _being_ had grown hourly more + indistinct, and that of mere _locality_ had in great measure usurped + its position. The idea of entity was becoming merged in that of + _place_. The narrow space immediately surrounding what had been the + body was now growing to be the body itself. At length, as often + happens to the sleeper (by sleep and its world alone is _Death_ + imaged)--at length, as sometimes happened on Earth to the deep + slumberer, when some flitting light half startled him into awaking, + yet left him half enveloped in dreams--so to me, in the strict embrace + of the _Shadow_, came _that_ light which alone might have had power to + startle--the light of enduring _Love_. Men toiled at the grave in + which I lay darkling. They upthrew the damp earth. Upon my mouldering + bones there descended the coffin of Una. And now again all was void. + That nebulous light had been extinguished. That feeble thrill had + vibrated itself into quiescence. Many _lustra_ had supervened. Dust + had returned to dust. The worm had food no more. The sense of being + had at length utterly departed, and there reigned in its stead-- + instead of all things, dominant and perpetual--the autocrats _Place_ + and _Time._ For _that_ which _was not_--for that which had no + form--for that which had no thought--for that which had no + sentience--for that which was soundless, yet of which matter formed no + portion--for all this nothingness, yet for all this immortality, the + grave was still a home, and the corrosive hours, co-mates. + + + +[Footnote 1: + + "It will be hard to discover a better [method of education] than that + which the experience of so many ages has already discovered; and this + may be summed up as consisting in gymnastics for the body, and + _music_ for the soul." + +Repub. lib. 2. + + "For this reason is a musical education most essential; since it + causes Rhythm and Harmony to penetrate most intimately into the soul, + taking the strongest hold upon it, filling it with _beauty_ and making + the man _beautiful-minded_. ... He will praise and admire _the + beautiful_, will receive it with joy into his soul, will feed upon it, + and _assimilate his own condition with it_." + +Ibid. lib. 3. Music had, however, among the Athenians, a far more +comprehensive signification than with us. It included not only the +harmonies of time and of tune, but the poetic diction, sentiment and +creation, each in its widest sense. The study of _music_ was with them, +in fact, the general cultivation of the taste--of that which recognizes +the beautiful--in contradistinction from reason, which deals only with +the true.] + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE CONVERSATION OF EIROS AND CHARMION. + + + I will bring fire to thee. + + _Euripides_.--'Androm'. + + + +'Eiros'. + + Why do you call me Eiros? + + +'Charmion'. + + So henceforward will you always be called. You must forget, too, _my_ + earthly name, and speak to me as Charmion. + + +'Eiros'. + + This is indeed no dream! + + +'Charmion'. + + Dreams are with us no more;--but of these mysteries anon. I rejoice to + see you looking life-like and rational. The film of the shadow has + already passed from off your eyes. Be of heart, and fear nothing. Your + allotted days of stupor have expired, and to-morrow I will myself + induct you into the full joys and wonders of your novel existence. + + +'Eiros'. + + True--I feel no stupor--none at all. The wild sickness and the + terrible darkness have left me, and I hear no longer that mad, + rushing, horrible sound, like the "voice of many waters." Yet my + senses are bewildered, Charmion, with the keenness of their perception + of _the new_. + + +'Charmion'. + + A few days will remove all this;--but I fully understand you, and + feel for you. It is now ten earthly years since I underwent what you + undergo--yet the remembrance of it hangs by me still. You have now + suffered all of pain, however, which you will suffer in Aidenn. + + +'Eiros'. + + In Aidenn? + + +'Charmion'. + + In Aidenn. + + +'Eiros'. + + O God!--pity me, Charmion!--I am overburthened with the majesty of all + things--of the unknown now known--of the speculative Future merged in + the august and certain Present. + + +'Charmion'. + + Grapple not now with such thoughts. To-morrow we will speak of this. + Your mind wavers, and its agitation will find relief in the exercise + of simple memories. Look not around, nor forward--but back. I am + burning with anxiety to hear the details of that stupendous event + which threw you among us. Tell me of it. Let us converse of familiar + things, in the old familiar language of the world which has so + fearfully perished. + + +'Eiros'. + + Most fearfully, fearfully!--this is indeed no dream. + + +'Charmion'. + + Dreams are no more. Was I much mourned, my Eiros? + +'Eiros'. + + Mourned, Charmion?--oh, deeply. To that last hour of all there hung a + cloud of intense gloom and devout sorrow over your household. + + +'Charmion'. + + And that last hour--speak of it. Remember that, beyond the naked fact + of the catastrophe itself, I know nothing. When, coming out from among + mankind, I passed into Night through the Grave--at that period, if I + remember aright, the calamity which overwhelmed you was utterly + unanticipated. But, indeed, I knew little of the speculative + philosophy of the day. + + +'Eiros'. + + The individual calamity was, as you say, entirely unanticipated; but + analogous misfortunes had been long a subject of discussion with + astronomers. I need scarce tell you, my friend, that, even when you + left us, men had agreed to understand those passages in the most holy + writings which speak of the final destruction of all things by fire as + having reference to the orb of the earth alone, But in regard to the + immediate agency of the ruin, speculation had been at fault from that + epoch in astronomical knowledge in which the comets were divested of + the terrors of flame. The very moderate density of these bodies had + been well established. They had been observed to pass among the + satellites of Jupiter without bringing about any sensible alteration + either in the masses or in the orbits of these secondary planets. We + had long regarded the wanderers as vapory creations of inconceivable + tenuity, and as altogether incapable of doing injury to our + substantial globe, even in the event of contact. But contact was not + in any degree dreaded; for the elements of all the comets were + accurately known. That among _them_ we should look for the agency of + the threatened fiery destruction had been for many years considered an + inadmissible idea. But wonders and wild fancies had been of late days + strangely rife among mankind; and, although it was only with a few of + the ignorant that actual apprehension prevailed, upon the announcement + by astronomers of a _new_ comet, yet this announcement was generally + received with I know not what of agitation and mistrust. + + The elements of the strange orb were immediately calculated, and it + was at once conceded by all observers that its path, at perihelion + would bring it into very close proximity with the earth. There were + two or three astronomers of secondary note who resolutely maintained + that a contact was inevitable. I cannot very well express to you the + effect of this intelligence upon the people. For a few short days they + would not believe an assertion which their intellect, so long employed + among worldly considerations, could not in any manner grasp. But the + truth of a vitally important fact soon makes its way into the + understanding of even the most stolid. Finally, all men saw that + astronomical knowledge lies not, and they awaited the comet. Its + approach was not at first seemingly rapid, nor was its appearance of + very unusual character. It was of a dull red, and had little + perceptible train. For seven or eight days we saw no material increase + in its apparent diameter, and but a partial alteration in its color. + Meantime, the ordinary affairs of men were discarded, and all interest + absorbed in a growing discussion instituted by the philosophic in + respect to the cometary nature. Even the grossly ignorant aroused + their sluggish capacities to such considerations. The learned _now_ + gave their intellect--their soul--to no such points as the allaying of + fear, or to the sustenance of loved theory. They sought--they panted + for right views. They groaned for perfected knowledge. _Truth_ arose + in the purity of her strength and exceeding majesty, and the wise + bowed down and adored. + + That material injury to our globe or to its inhabitants would result + from the apprehended contact was an opinion which hourly lost ground + among the wise; and the wise were now freely permitted to rule the + reason and the fancy of the crowd. It was demonstrated that the + density of the comet's _nucleus_ was far less than that of our rarest + gas; and the harmless passage of a similar visitor among the + satellites of Jupiter was a point strongly insisted upon, and which + served greatly to allay terror. Theologists, with an earnestness + fear-enkindled, dwelt upon the biblical prophecies, and expounded them + to the people with a directness and simplicity of which no previous + instance had been known. That the final destruction of the earth must + be brought about by the agency of fire, was urged with a spirit that + enforced everywhere conviction; and that the comets were of no fiery + nature (as all men now knew) was a truth which relieved all, in a + great measure, from the apprehension of the great calamity foretold. + It is noticeable that the popular prejudices and vulgar errors in + regard to pestilences and wars--errors which were wont to prevail upon + every appearance of a comet--were now altogether unknown, as if by + some sudden convulsive exertion reason had at once hurled superstition + from her throne. The feeblest intellect had derived vigor from + excessive interest. + + What minor evils might arise from the contact were points of elaborate + question. The learned spoke of slight geological disturbances, of + probable alterations in climate, and consequently in vegetation; of + possible magnetic and electric influences. Many held that no visible + or perceptible effect would in any manner be produced. While such + discussions were going on, their subject gradually approached, growing + larger in apparent diameter, and of a more brilliant lustre. Mankind + grew paler as it came. All human operations were suspended. + + There was an epoch in the course of the general sentiment when the + comet had attained, at length, a size surpassing that of any + previously recorded visitation. The people now, dismissing any + lingering hope that the astronomers were wrong, experienced all the + certainty of evil. The chimerical aspect of their terror was gone. The + hearts of the stoutest of our race beat violently within their bosoms. + A very few days suffered, however, to merge even such feelings in + sentiments more unendurable. We could no longer apply to the strange + orb any _accustomed_ thoughts. Its _historical_ attributes had + disappeared. It oppressed us with a hideous _novelty_ of emotion. We + saw it not as an astronomical phenomenon in the heavens, but as an + incubus upon our hearts and a shadow upon our brains. It had taken, + with unconceivable rapidity, the character of a gigantic mantle of + rare flame, extending from horizon to horizon. + + Yet a day, and men breathed with greater freedom. It was clear that we + were already within the influence of the comet; yet we lived. We even + felt an unusual elasticity of frame and vivacity of mind. The + exceeding tenuity of the object of our dread was apparent; for all + heavenly objects were plainly visible through it. Meantime, our + vegetation had perceptibly altered; and we gained faith, from this + predicted circumstance, in the foresight of the wise. A wild + luxuriance of foliage, utterly unknown before, burst out upon every + vegetable thing. + + Yet another day--and the evil was not altogether upon us. It was now + evident that its nucleus would first reach us. A wild change had come + over all men; and the first sense of _pain_ was the wild signal for + general lamentation and horror. The first sense of pain lay in a + rigorous construction of the breast and lungs, and an insufferable + dryness of the skin. It could not be denied that our atmosphere was + radically affected; the conformation of this atmosphere and the + possible modifications to which it might be subjected, were now the + topics of discussion. The result of investigation sent an electric + thrill of the intensest terror through the universal heart of man. + + It had been long known that the air which encircled us was a compound + of oxygen and nitrogen gases, in the proportion of twenty-one measures + of oxygen and seventy-nine of nitrogen in every one hundred of the + atmosphere. Oxygen, which was the principle of combustion, and the + vehicle of heat, was absolutely necessary to the support of animal + life, and was the most powerful and energetic agent in nature. + Nitrogen, on the contrary, was incapable of supporting either animal + life or flame. An unnatural excess of oxygen would result, it had been + ascertained, in just such an elevation of the animal spirits as we had + latterly experienced. It was the pursuit, the extension of the idea, + which had engendered awe. What would be the result of a _total + extraction of the nitrogen_? A combustion irresistible, all-devouring, + omni-prevalent, immediate;--the entire fulfilment, in all their + minute and terrible details, of the fiery and horror-inspiring + denunciations of the prophecies of the Holy Book. + + Why need I paint, Charmion, the now disenchained frenzy of mankind? + That tenuity in the comet which had previously inspired us with hope, + was now the source of the bitterness of despair. In its impalpable + gaseous character we clearly perceived the consummation of Fate. + Meantime a day again passed--bearing away with it the last shadow of + Hope. We gasped in the rapid modification of the air. The red blood + bounded tumultuously through its strict channels. A furious delirium + possessed all men; and with arms rigidly outstretched towards the + threatening heavens, they trembled and shrieked aloud. But the nucleus + of the destroyer was now upon us;--even here in Aidenn I shudder while + I speak. Let me be brief--brief as the ruin that overwhelmed. For a + moment there was a wild lurid light alone, visiting and penetrating + all things. Then--let us bow down, Charmion, before the excessive + majesty of the great God!--then, there came a shouting and pervading + sound, as if from the mouth itself of HIM; while the whole incumbent + mass of ether in which we existed, burst at once into a species of + intense flame, for whose surpassing brilliancy and all-fervid heat + even the angels in the high Heaven of pure knowledge have no name. + Thus ended all. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +SHADOW.--A PARABLE. + + + Yea! though I walk through the valley of the _Shadow_. + + 'Psalm of David'. + + +Ye who read are still among the living; but I who write shall have long +since gone my way into the region of shadows. For indeed strange things +shall happen, and secret things be known, and many centuries shall pass +away, ere these memorials be seen of men. And, when seen, there will be +some to disbelieve and some to doubt, and yet a few who will find much +to ponder upon in the characters here graven with a stylus of iron. + +The year had been a year of terror, and of feeling more intense than +terror for which there is no name upon the earth. For many prodigies and +signs had taken place, and far and wide, over sea and land, the black +wings of the Pestilence were spread abroad. To those, nevertheless, +cunning in the stars, it was not unknown that the heavens wore an aspect +of ill; and to me, the Greek Oinos, among others, it was evident that +now had arrived the alternation of that seven hundred and ninety-fourth +year when, at the entrance of Aries, the planet Jupiter is enjoined with +the red ring of the terrible Saturnus. The peculiar spirit of the skies, +if I mistake not greatly, made itself manifest, not only in the physical +orb of the earth, but in the souls, imaginations, and meditations of +mankind. + +Over some flasks of the red Chian wine, within the walls of a noble +hall, in a dim city called Ptolemais, we sat, at night, a company of +seven. And to our chamber there was no entrance save by a lofty door of +brass: and the door was fashioned by the artisan Corinnos, and, being of +rare workmanship, was fastened from within. Black draperies, likewise in +the gloomy room, shut out from our view the moon, the lurid stars, and +the peopleless streets--but the boding and the memory of Evil, they +would not be so excluded. There were things around us and about of which +I can render no distinct account--things material and spiritual-- +heaviness in the atmosphere--a sense of suffocation--anxiety--and, above +all, that terrible state of existence which the nervous experience when +the senses are keenly living and awake, and meanwhile the powers of +thought lie dormant. A dead weight hung upon us. It hung upon our +limbs--upon the household furniture--upon the goblets from which we +drank; and all things were depressed, and borne down thereby--all things +save only the flames of the seven iron lamps which illumined our revel. +Uprearing themselves in tall slender lines of light, they thus remained +burning all pallid and motionless; and in the mirror which their lustre +formed upon the round table of ebony at which we sat each of us there +assembled beheld the pallor of his own countenance, and the unquiet +glare in the downcast eyes of his companions. Yet we laughed and were +merry in our proper way--which was hysterical; and sang the songs of +Anacreon--which are madness; and drank deeply--although the purple wine +reminded us of blood. For there was yet another tenant of our chamber in +the person of young Zoilus. Dead and at full length he lay, +enshrouded;--the genius and the demon of the scene. Alas! he bore no +portion in our mirth, save that his countenance, distorted with the +plague, and his eyes in which Death had but half extinguished the fire +of the pestilence, seemed to take such an interest in our merriment as +the dead may haply take in the merriment of those who are to die. But +although I, Oinos, felt that the eyes of the departed were upon me, +still I forced myself not to perceive the bitterness of their +expression, and gazing down steadily into the depths of the ebony +mirror, sang with a loud and sonorous voice the songs of the son of +Teos. But gradually my songs they ceased, and their echoes, rolling afar +off among the sable draperies of the chamber, became weak, and +undistinguishable, and so faded away. And lo! from among those sable +draperies, where the sounds of the song departed, there came forth a +dark and undefiled shadow--a shadow such as the moon, when low in +heaven, might fashion from the figure of a man: but it was the shadow +neither of man nor of God, nor of any familiar thing. And quivering +awhile among the draperies of the room it at length rested in full view +upon the surface of the door of brass. But the shadow was vague, and +formless, and indefinite, and was the shadow neither of man nor +God--neither God of Greece, nor God of Chaldæa, nor any Egyptian God. +And the shadow rested upon the brazen doorway, and under the arch of the +entablature of the door and moved not, nor spoke any word, but there +became stationary and remained. And the door whereupon the shadow rested +was, if I remember aright, over against the feet of the young Zoilus +enshrouded. But we, the seven there assembled, having seen the shadow as +it came out from among the draperies, dared not steadily behold it, but +cast down our eyes, and gazed continually into the depths of the mirror +of ebony. And at length I, Oinos, speaking some low words, demanded of +the shadow its dwelling and its appellation. And the shadow answered, "I +am SHADOW, and my dwelling is near to the Catacombs of Ptolemais, and +hard by those dim plains of Helusion which border upon the foul +Charonian canal." And then did we, the seven, start from our seats in +horror, and stand trembling, and shuddering, and aghast: for the tones +in the voice of the shadow were not the tones of any one being, but of a +multitude of beings, and varying in their cadences from syllable to +syllable, fell duskily upon our ears in the well remembered and familiar +accents of many thousand departed friends. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +SILENCE.--A FABLE. + + +The mountain pinnacles slumber; valleys, crags, and caves _are silent_. + +"LISTEN to _me_," said the Demon, as he placed his hand upon my head. +"The region of which I speak is a dreary region in Libya, by the borders +of the river Zäire. And there is no quiet there, nor silence. + +"The waters of the river have a saffron and sickly hue; and they flow +not onward to the sea, but palpitate forever and forever beneath the red +eye of the sun with a tumultuous and convulsive motion. For many miles +on either side of the river's oozy bed is a pale desert of gigantic +water-lilies. They sigh one unto the other in that solitude, and stretch +towards the heaven their long and ghastly necks, and nod to and fro +their everlasting heads. And there is an indistinct murmur which cometh +out from among them like the rushing of subterrene water. And they sigh +one unto the other. + +"But there is a boundary to their realm--the boundary of the dark, +horrible, lofty forest. There, like the waves about the Hebrides, the +low underwood is agitated continually. But there is no wind throughout +the heaven. And the tall primeval trees rock eternally hither and +thither with a crashing and mighty sound. And from their high summits, +one by one, drop everlasting dews. And at the roots, strange poisonous +flowers lie writhing in perturbed slumber. And overhead, with a rustling +and loud noise, the gray clouds rush westwardly forever until they roll, +a cataract, over the fiery wall of the horizon. But there is no wind +throughout the heaven. And by the shores of the river Zäire there is +neither quiet nor silence. + +"It was night, and the rain fell; and, falling, it was rain, but, having +fallen, it was blood. And I stood in the morass among the tall lilies, +and the rain fell upon my head--and the lilies sighed one unto the other +in the solemnity of their desolation. + +"And, all at once, the moon arose through the thin ghastly mist, and was +crimson in color. And mine eyes fell upon a huge gray rock which stood +by the shore of the river and was lighted by the light of the moon. And +the rock was gray and ghastly, and tall,--and the rock was gray. Upon +its front were characters engraven in the stones; and I walked through +the morass of water-lilies, until I came close unto the shore, that I +might read the characters upon the stone. But I could not decipher them. +And I was going back into the morass when the moon shone with a fuller +red, and I turned and looked again upon the rock and upon the +characters;--and the characters were DESOLATION. + +"And I looked upwards, and there stood a man upon the summit of the +rock; and I hid myself among the water-lilies that I might discover the +action of the man. And the man was tall and stately in form, and wrapped +up from his shoulders to his feet in the toga of old Rome. And the +outlines of his figure were indistinct--but his features were the +features of a deity; for the mantle of the night, and of the mist, and +of the moon, and of the dew, had left uncovered the features of his +face. And his brow was lofty with thought, and his eye wild with care; +and in the few furrows upon his cheek, I read the fables of sorrow, and +weariness, and disgust with mankind, and a longing after solitude. + +"And the man sat upon the rock, and leaned his head upon his hand, and +looked out upon the desolation. He looked down into the low unquiet +shrubbery, and up into the tall primeval trees, and up higher at the +rustling heaven, and into the crimson moon. And I lay close within +shelter of the lilies, and observed the actions of the man. And the man +trembled in the solitude;--but the night waned, and he sat upon the +rock. + +"And the man turned his attention from the heaven, and looked out upon +the dreary river Zäire, and upon the yellow ghastly waters, and upon the +pale legions of the water-lilies. And the man listened to the sighs of +the water-lilies, and to the murmur that came up from among them. And I +lay close within my covert and observed the actions of the man. And the +man trembled in the solitude;--but the night waned, and he sat upon the +rock. + +"Then I went down into the recesses of the morass, and waded afar in +among the wilderness of the lilies, and called unto the hippopotami +which dwelt among the fens in the recesses of the morass. And the +hippopotami heard my call, and came, with the behemoth, unto the foot of +the rock, and roared loudly and fearfully beneath the moon. And I lay +close within my covert and observed the actions of the man. And the man +trembled in the solitude;--but the night waned, and he sat upon the +rock. + +"Then I cursed the elements with the curse of tumult; and a frightful +tempest gathered in the heaven, where before there had been no wind. And +the heaven became livid with the violence of the tempest--and the rain +beat upon the head of the man--and the floods of the river came +down--and the river was tormented into foam--and the water-lilies +shrieked within their beds--and the forest crumbled before the wind--and +the thunder rolled--and the lightning fell--and the rock rocked to its +foundation. And I lay close within my covert and observed the actions of +the man. And the man trembled in the solitude;--but the night waned, and +he sat upon the rock. + +"Then I grew angry and cursed, with the curse of silence, the river, and +the lilies, and the wind, and the forest, and the heaven, and the +thunder, and the sighs of the water-lilies. And they became accursed, +and _were still._ And the moon ceased to totter up its pathway to +heaven--and the thunder died away--and the lightning did not flash--and +the clouds hung motionless--and the waters sunk to their level and +remained--and the trees ceased to rock--and the water-lilies sighed no +more--and the murmur was heard no longer from among them, nor any shadow +of sound throughout the vast illimitable desert. And I looked upon the +characters of the rock, and they were changed;--and the characters were +SILENCE. + +"And mine eyes fell upon the countenance of the man, and his countenance +was wan with terror. And, hurriedly, he raised his head from his hand, +and stood forth upon the rock and listened. But there was no voice +throughout the vast illimitable desert, and the characters upon the rock +were SILENCE. And the man shuddered, and turned his face away, and fled +afar off, in haste, so that I beheld him no more." + +... + +Now there are fine tales in the volumes of the Magi--in the iron-bound, +melancholy volumes of the Magi. Therein, I say, are glorious histories +of the Heaven, and of the Earth, and of the mighty Sea--and of the Genii +that overruled the sea, and the earth, and the lofty heaven. There was +much lore, too, in the sayings which were said by the sybils; and holy, +holy things were heard of old by the dim leaves that trembled around +Dodona--but, as Allah liveth, that fable which the demon told me as he +sat by my side in the shadow of the tomb, I hold to be the most +wonderful of all! And as the Demon made an end of his story, he fell +back within the cavity of the tomb and laughed. And I could not laugh +with the Demon, and he cursed me because I could not laugh. And the lynx +which dwelleth forever in the tomb, came out therefrom, and lay down at +the feet of the Demon, and looked at him steadily in the face. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + + ESSAYS. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE POETIC PRINCIPLE. + + +In speaking of the Poetic Principle, I have no design to be either +thorough or profound. While discussing very much at random the +essentiality of what we call Poetry, my principal purpose will be to +cite for consideration some few of those minor English or American poems +which best suit my own taste, or which, upon my own fancy, have left the +most definite impression. By "minor poems" I mean, of course, poems of +little length. And here, in the beginning, permit me to say a few words +in regard to a somewhat peculiar principle, which, whether rightfully or +wrongfully, has always had its influence in my own critical estimate of +the poem. I hold that a long poem does not exist. I maintain that the +phrase, "a long poem," is simply a flat contradiction in terms. + +I need scarcely observe that a poem deserves its title only inasmuch as +it excites, by elevating the soul. The value of the poem is in the ratio +of this elevating excitement. But all excitements are, through a psychal +necessity, transient. That degree of excitement which would entitle a +poem to be so called at all, cannot be sustained throughout a +composition of any great length. After the lapse of half an hour, at the +very utmost, it flags--fails--a revulsion ensues--and then the poem is, +in effect, and in fact, no longer such. + +There are, no doubt, many who have found difficulty in reconciling the +critical dictum that the "Paradise Lost" is to be devoutly admired +throughout, with the absolute impossibility of maintaining for it, +during perusal, the amount of enthusiasm which that critical dictum +would demand. This great work, in fact, is to be regarded as poetical +only when, losing sight of that vital requisite in all works of Art, +Unity, we view it merely as a series of minor poems. If, to preserve its +Unity--its totality of effect or impression--we read it (as would be +necessary) at a single sitting, the result is but a constant alternation +of excitement and depression. After a passage of what we feel to be true +poetry, there follows, inevitably, a passage of platitude which no +critical prejudgment can force us to admire; but if, upon completing the +work, we read it again; omitting the first book--that is to say, +commencing with the second--we shall be surprised at now finding that +admirable which we before condemned--that damnable which we had +previously so much admired. It follows from all this that the ultimate, +aggregate, or absolute effect of even the best epic under the sun, is a +nullity--and this is precisely the fact. + +In regard to the Iliad, we have, if not positive proof, at least very +good reason, for believing it intended as a series of lyrics; but, +granting the epic intention, I can say only that the work is based in an +imperfect sense of Art. The modern epic is, of the supposititious +ancient model, but an inconsiderate and blindfold imitation. But the day +of these artistic anomalies is over. If, at any time, any very long poem +_were_ popular in reality--which I doubt--it is at least clear that no +very long poem will ever be popular again. + +That the extent of a poetical work is _ceteris paribus_, the measure of +its merit, seems undoubtedly, when we thus state it, a proposition +sufficiently absurd--yet we are indebted for it to the Quarterly +Reviews. Surely there can be nothing in mere _size_, abstractly +considered--there can be nothing in mere _bulk_, so far as a volume is +concerned, which has so continuously elicited admiration from these +saturnine pamphlets! A mountain, to be sure, by the mere sentiment of +physical magnitude which it conveys, _does_ impress us with a sense of +the sublime--but no man is impressed after _this_ fashion by the +material grandeur of even "The Columbiad." Even the Quarterlies have not +instructed us to be so impressed by it. _As yet_, they have not +_insisted_ on our estimating Lamartine by the cubic foot, or Pollock by +the pound--but what else are we to _infer_ from their continual prating +about "sustained effort"? If, by "sustained effort," any little +gentleman has accomplished an epic, let us frankly commend him for the +effort--if this indeed be a thing commendable--but let us forbear +praising the epic on the effort's account. It is to be hoped thai common +sense, in the time to come, will prefer deciding upon a work of Art +rather by the impression it makes--by the effect it produces--than by +the time it took to impress the effect, or by the amount of "sustained +effort" which had been found necessary in effecting the impression. The +fact is, that perseverance is one thing and genius quite another--nor +can all the Quarterlies in Christendom confound them. By and by, this +proposition, with many which I have been just urging, will be received +as self-evident. In the meantime, by being generally condemned as +falsities, they will not be essentially damaged as truths. + +On the other hand, it is clear that a poem may be improperly brief. +Undue brevity degenerates into mere epigrammatism. A _very_ short poem, +while now and then producing a brilliant or vivid, never produces a +profound or enduring effect. There must be the steady pressing down of +the stamp upon the wax. De Béranger has wrought innumerable things, +pungent and spirit-stirring, but in general they have been too +imponderous to stamp themselves deeply into the public attention, and +thus, as so many feathers of fancy, have been blown aloft only to be +whistled down the wind. + +A remarkable instance of the effect of undue brevity in depressing a +poem, in keeping it out of the popular view, is afforded by the +following exquisite little Serenade: + + + I arise from dreams of thee + In the first sweet sleep of night + When the winds are breathing low, + And the stars are shining bright. + I arise from dreams of thee, + And a spirit in my feet + Has led me--who knows how?-- + To thy chamber-window, sweet! + + The wandering airs they faint + On the dark the silent stream-- + The champak odors fail + Like sweet thoughts in a dream; + The nightingale's complaint, + It dies upon her heart, + As I must die on thine, + O, beloved as thou art! + + O, lift me from the grass! + I die, I faint, I fail! + Let thy love in kisses rain + On my lips and eyelids pale. + My cheek is cold and white, alas! + My heart beats loud and fast: + O, press it close to thine again, + Where it will break at last! + + +Very few perhaps are familiar with these lines, yet no less a poet than +Shelley is their author. Their warm, yet delicate and ethereal +imagination will be appreciated by all, but by none so thoroughly as by +him who has himself arisen from sweet dreams of one beloved to bathe in +the aromatic air of a southern midsummer night. + +One of the finest poems by Willis, the very best in my opinion which he +has ever written, has no doubt, through this same defect of undue +brevity, been kept back from its proper position, not less in the +critical than in the popular view: + + + The shadows lay along Broadway, + 'Twas near the twilight-tide-- + And slowly there a lady fair + Was walking in her pride. + Alone walk'd she; but, viewlessly + Walk'd spirits at her side. + + Peace charm'd the street beneath her feet, + And honor charm'd the air; + And all astir looked kind on her, + And called her good as fair-- + For all God ever gave to her + She kept with chary care. + + She kept with care her beauties rare + From lovers warm and true-- + For heart was cold to all but gold, + And the rich came not to woo-- + But honor'd well her charms to sell, + If priests the selling do. + + Now walking there was one more fair-- + A slight girl, lily-pale; + And she had unseen company + To make the spirit quail-- + Twixt Want and Scorn she walk'd forlorn, + And nothing could avail. + + No mercy now can clear her brow + From this world's peace to pray, + For as love's wild prayer dissolved in air, + Her woman's heart gave way!-- + But the sin forgiven by Christ in Heaven, + By man is cursed alway! + + +In this composition we find it difficult to recognise the Willis who has +written so many mere "verses of society." The lines are not only richly +ideal but full of energy, while they breathe an earnestness, an evident +sincerity of sentiment, for which we look in vain throughout all the +other works of this author. + +While the epic mania, while the idea that to merit in poetry prolixity +is indispensable, has for some years past been gradually dying out of +the public mind, by mere dint of its own absurdity, we find it succeeded +by a heresy too palpably false to be long tolerated, but one which, in +the brief period it has already endured, may be said to have +accomplished more in the corruption of our Poetical Literature than all +its other enemies combined. I allude to the heresy of _The Didactic_. It +has been assumed, tacitly and avowedly, directly and indirectly, that +the ultimate object of all Poetry is truth. Every poem, it is said, +should inculcate a moral, and by this moral is the poetical merit of the +work to be adjudged. We Americans especially have patronized this happy +idea, and we Bostonians very especially have developed it in full. We +have taken it into our heads that to write a poem simply for the poem's +sake, and to acknowledge such to have been our design, would be to +confess ourselves radically wanting in the true poetic dignity and +force:--but the simple fact is that would we but permit ourselves to +look into our own souls we should immediately there discover that under +the sun there neither exists nor _can_ exist any work more thoroughly +dignified, more supremely noble, than this very poem, this poem _per +se_, this poem which is a poem and nothing more, this poem written +solely for the poem's sake. + +With as deep a reverence for the True as ever inspired the bosom of man, +I would nevertheless limit, in some measure, its modes of inculcation. I +would limit to enforce them. I would not enfeeble them by dissipation. +The demands of Truth are severe. She has no sympathy with the myrtles. +All _that_ which is so indispensable in Song is precisely all _that_ +with which _she_ has nothing whatever to do. It is but making her a +flaunting paradox to wreathe her in gems and flowers. In enforcing a +truth we need severity rather than efflorescence of language. We must be +simple, precise, terse. We must be cool, calm, unimpassioned. In a word, +we must be in that mood which, as nearly as possible, is the exact +converse of the poetical. _He_ must be blind indeed who does not +perceive the radical and chasmal difference between the truthful and the +poetical modes of inculcation. He must be theory-mad beyond redemption +who, in spite of these differences, shall still persist in attempting to +reconcile the obstinate oils and waters of Poetry and Truth. + +Dividing the world of mind into its three most immediately obvious +distinctions, we have the Pure Intellect, Taste, and the Moral Sense. I +place Taste in the middle because it is just this position which in the +mind it occupies. It holds intimate relations with either extreme; but +from the Moral Sense is separated by so faint a difference that +Aristotle has not hesitated to place some of its operations among the +virtues themselves. Nevertheless we find the _offices_ of the trio +marked with a sufficient distinction. Just as the Intellect concerns +itself with Truth, so Taste informs us of the Beautiful, while the Moral +Sense is regardful of Duty. Of this latter, while Conscience teaches the +obligation, and Reason the expediency, Taste contents herself with +displaying the charms, waging war upon Vice solely on the ground of her +deformity, her disproportion, her animosity to the fitting, to the +appropriate, to the harmonious, in a word, to Beauty. + +An immortal instinct deep within the spirit of man is thus plainly a +sense of the Beautiful. This it is which administers to his delight in +the manifold forms, and sounds, and odors, and sentiments amid which he +exists. And just as the lily is repeated in the lake, or the eyes of +Amaryllis in the mirror, so is the mere oral or written repetition of +these forms, and sounds, and colors, and odors, and sentiments a +duplicate source of delight. But this mere repetition is not poetry. He +who shall simply sing, with however glowing enthusiasm, or with however +vivid a truth of description, of the sights, and sounds, and odors, and +colors, and sentiments which greet him in common with all mankind--he, I +say, has yet failed to prove his divine title. There is still a +something in the distance which he has been unable to attain. We have +still a thirst unquenchable, to allay which he has not shown us the +crystal springs. This thirst belongs to the immortality of man. It is at +once a consequence and an indication of his perennial existence. It is +the desire of the moth for the star. It is no mere appreciation of the +Beauty before us, but a wild effort to reach the Beauty above. Inspired +by an ecstatic prescience of the glories beyond the grave, we struggle +by multiform combinations among the things and thoughts of Time to +attain a portion of that Loveliness whose very elements perhaps +appertain to eternity alone. And thus when by Poetry, or when by Music, +the most entrancing of the poetic moods, we find ourselves melted into +tears, we weep then, not as the Abbate Gravina supposes, through excess +of pleasure, but through a certain petulant, impatient sorrow at our +inability to grasp _now_, wholly, here on earth, at once and forever, +those divine and rapturous joys of which _through_ the poem, or +_through_ the music, we attain to but brief and indeterminate glimpses. + +The struggle to apprehend the supernal Loveliness--this struggle, on the +part of souls fittingly constituted--has given to the world all _that_ +which it (the world) has ever been enabled at once to understand and _to +feel_ as poetic. + +The Poetic Sentiment, of course, may develop itself in various modes--in +Painting, in Sculpture, in Architecture, in the Dance--very especially +in Music--and very peculiarly, and with a wide field, in the composition +of the Landscape Garden. Our present theme, however, has regard only to +its manifestation in words. And here let me speak briefly on the topic +of rhythm. Contenting myself with the certainty that Music, in its +various modes of metre, rhythm, and rhyme, is of so vast a moment in +Poetry as never to be wisely rejected--is so vitally important an +adjunct, that he is simply silly who declines its assistance, I will not +now pause to maintain its absolute essentiality. It is in Music perhaps +that the soul most nearly attains the great end for which, when inspired +by the poetic Sentiment, it struggles--the creation of supernal Beauty. +It _may_ be, indeed, that here this sublime end is, now and, then, +attained in _fact._ We are often made to feel, with a shivering delight, +that from an earthly harp are stricken notes which _cannot_ have been +unfamiliar to the angels. And thus there can be little doubt that in the +union of Poetry with Music in its popular sense, we shall find the +widest field for the Poetic development. The old Bards and Minnesingers +had advantages which we do not possess--and Thomas Moore, singing his +own songs, was, in the most legitimate manner, perfecting them as poems. + +To recapitulate then:--I would define, in brief, the Poetry of words as +_The Rhythmical Creation of Beauty._ Its sole arbiter is Taste. With the +Intellect or with the Conscience it has only collateral relations. +Unless incidentally, it has no concern whatever either with Duty or with +Truth. + +A few words, however, in explanation. _That_ pleasure which is at once +the most pure, the most elevating, and the most intense, is derived, I +maintain, from the contemplation of the Beautiful. In the contemplation +of Beauty we alone find it possible to attain that pleasurable +elevation, or excitement _of the soul_, which we recognize as the Poetic +Sentiment, and which is so easily distinguished from Truth, which is the +satisfaction of the Reason, or from Passion, which is the excitement of +the heart. I make Beauty, therefore--using the word as inclusive of the +sublime--I make Beauty the province of the poem, simply because it is an +obvious rule of Art that effects should be made to spring as directly as +possible from their causes:--no one as yet having been weak enough to +deny that the peculiar elevation in question is at least _most readily_ +attainable in the poem. It by no means follows, however, that the +incitements of Passion, or the precepts of Duty, or even the lessons of +Truth, may not be introduced into a poem, and with advantage; for they +may subserve incidentally, in various ways, the general purposes of the +work: but the true artist will always contrive to tone them down in +proper subjection to that Beauty which is the atmosphere and the real +essence of the poem. + +I cannot better introduce the few poems which I shall present for your +consideration, than by the citation of the Pröem to Longfellow's "Waif": + + + The day is done, and the darkness + Falls from the wings of Night, + As a feather is wafted downward + From an eagle in his flight. + + I see the lights of the village + Gleam through the rain and the mist, + And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, + That my soul cannot resist; + + A feeling of sadness and longing, + That is not akin to pain, + And resembles sorrow only + As the mist resembles the rain. + + Come, read to me some poem, + Some simple and heartfelt lay, + That shall soothe this restless feeling, + And banish the thoughts of day. + + Not from the grand old masters, + Not from the bards sublime, + Whose distant footsteps echo + Through the corridors of Time. + + For, like strains of martial music, + Their mighty thoughts suggest + Life's endless toil and endeavor; + And to-night I long for rest. + + Read from some humbler poet, + Whose songs gushed from his heart, + As showers from the clouds of summer, + Or tears from the eyelids start; + + Who through long days of labor, + And nights devoid of ease, + Still heard in his soul the music + Of wonderful melodies. + + Such songs have power to quiet + The restless pulse of care, + And come like the benediction + That follows after prayer. + + Then read from the treasured volume + The poem of thy choice, + And lend to the rhyme of the poet + The beauty of thy voice. + + And the night shall be filled with music, + And the cares that infest the day, + Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, + And as silently steal away. + + +With no great range of imagination, these lines have been justly admired +for their delicacy of expression. Some of the images are very effective. +Nothing can be better than + + + --the bards sublime, + Whose distant footsteps echo + Down the corridors of Time. + + +The idea of the last quatrain is also very effective. The poem on the +whole, however, is chiefly to be admired for the graceful _insouciance_ +of its metre, so well in accordance with the character of the +sentiments, and especially for the _ease_ of the general manner. This +"ease" or naturalness, in a literary style, it has long been the fashion +to regard as ease in appearance alone--as a point of really difficult +attainment. But not so:--a natural manner is difficult only to him who +should never meddle with it--to the unnatural. It is but the result of +writing with the understanding, or with the instinct, that _the tone_, +in composition, should always be that which the mass of mankind would +adopt--and must perpetually vary, of course, with the occasion. The +author who, after the fashion of _The North American Review_, should be +upon _all_ occasions merely "quiet," must necessarily upon _many_ +occasions be simply silly, or stupid; and has no more right to be +considered "easy" or "natural" than a Cockney exquisite, or than the +sleeping Beauty in the waxworks. + +Among the minor poems of Bryant, none has so much impressed me as the +one which he entitles "June." I quote only a portion of it: + + + There, through the long, long summer hours, + The golden light should lie, + And thick young herbs and groups of flowers + Stand in their beauty by. + The oriole should build and tell + His love-tale, close beside my cell; + The idle butterfly + Should rest him there, and there be heard + The housewife-bee and humming bird. + + And what, if cheerful shouts at noon, + Come, from the village sent, + Or songs of maids, beneath the moon, + With fairy laughter blent? + And what if, in the evening light, + Betrothed lovers walk in sight + Of my low monument? + I would the lovely scene around + Might know no sadder sight nor sound. + + I know, I know I should not see + The season's glorious show, + Nor would its brightness shine for me; + Nor its wild music flow; + + But if, around my place of sleep, + The friends I love should come to weep, + They might not haste to go. + Soft airs and song, and light and bloom, + Should keep them lingering by my tomb. + + These to their soften'd hearts should bear + The thought of what has been, + And speak of one who cannot share + The gladness of the scene; + Whose part in all the pomp that fills + The circuit of the summer hills, + Is--that his grave is green; + And deeply would their hearts rejoice + To hear again his living voice. + + +The rhythmical flow here is even voluptuous--nothing could be more +melodious. The poem has always affected me in a remarkable manner. The +intense melancholy which seems to well up, perforce, to the surface of +all the poet's cheerful sayings about his grave, we find thrilling us to +the soul--while there is the truest poetic elevation in the thrill. The +impression left is one of a pleasurable sadness. And if, in the +remaining compositions which I shall introduce to you, there be more or +less of a similar tone always apparent, let me remind you that (how or +why we know not) this certain taint of sadness is inseparably connected +with all the higher manifestations of true Beauty. It is, nevertheless, + + + A feeling of sadness and longing + That is not akin to pain, + And resembles sorrow only + As the mist resembles the rain. + + +The taint of which I speak is clearly perceptible even in a poem so full +of brilliancy and spirit as "The Health" of Edward Coote Pinkney: + + + I fill this cup to one made up + Of loveliness alone, + A woman, of her gentle sex + The seeming paragon; + To whom the better elements + And kindly stars have given + A form so fair, that like the air, + 'Tis less of earth than heaven. + + Her every tone is music's own, + Like those of morning birds, + And something more than melody + Dwells ever in her words; + The coinage of her heart are they, + And from her lips each flows + As one may see the burden'd bee + Forth issue from the rose. + + Affections are as thoughts to her, + The measures of her hours; + Her feelings have the fragrancy, + The freshness of young flowers; + And lovely passions, changing oft, + So fill her, she appears + The image of themselves by turns,-- + The idol of past years! + + Of her bright face one glance will trace + A picture on the brain, + And of her voice in echoing hearts + A sound must long remain; + But memory, such as mine of her, + So very much endears, + When death is nigh my latest sigh + Will not be life's, but hers. + + I fill'd this cup to one made up + Of loveliness alone, + A woman, of her gentle sex + The seeming paragon-- + Her health! and would on earth there stood, + Some more of such a frame, + That life might be all poetry, + And weariness a name. + + +It was the misfortune of Mr. Pinkney to have been born too far south. +Had he been a New Englander, it is probable that he would have been +ranked as the first of American lyrists by that magnanimous cabal which +has so long controlled the destinies of American Letters, in conducting +the thing called 'The North American Review'. The poem just cited is +especially beautiful; but the poetic elevation which it induces we must +refer chiefly to our sympathy in the poet's enthusiasm. We pardon his +hyperboles for the evident earnestness with which they are uttered. + +It was by no means my design, however, to expatiate upon the _merits_ +of what I should read you. These will necessarily speak for themselves. +Boccalina, in his 'Advertisements from Parnassus', tells us that Zoilus +once presented Apollo a very caustic criticism upon a very admirable +book:--whereupon the god asked him for the beauties of the work. He +replied that he only busied himself about the errors. On hearing this, +Apollo, handing him a sack of unwinnowed wheat, bade him pick out _all +the chaff_ for his reward. + +Now this fable answers very well as a hit at the critics--but I am by no +means sure that the god was in the right. I am by no means certain that +the true limits of the critical duty are not grossly misunderstood. +Excellence, in a poem especially, may be considered in the light of an +axiom, which need only be properly _put_, to become self-evident. It is +_not_ excellence if it require to be demonstrated its such:--and thus to +point out too particularly the merits of a work of Art, is to admit that +they are _not_ merits altogether. + +Among the "Melodies" of Thomas Moore is one whose distinguished +character as a poem proper seems to have been singularly left out of +view. I allude to his lines beginning--"Come, rest in this bosom." The +intense energy of their expression is not surpassed by anything in +Byron. There are two of the lines in which a sentiment is conveyed that +embodies the _all in all_ of the divine passion of Love--a sentiment +which, perhaps, has found its echo in more, and in more passionate, +human hearts that any other single sentiment ever embodied in words: + + + Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, + Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here; + Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, + And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. + + Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same + Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame? + I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, + I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. + + Thou hast call'd me thy Angel in moments of bliss, + And thy Angel I'll be,'mid the horrors of this,-- + Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, + And shield thee, and save thee,--or perish there too! + + +It has been the fashion of late days to deny Moore Imagination, while +granting him Fancy--a distinction originating with Coleridge--than whom +no man more fully comprehended the great powers of Moore. The fact is, +that the fancy of this poet so far predominates over all his other +faculties, and over the fancy of all other men, as to have induced, very +naturally, the idea that he is fanciful _only._ But never was there a +greater mistake. Never was a grosser wrong done the fame of a true poet. +In the compass of the English language I can call to mind no poem more +profoundly--more weirdly _imaginative,_ in the best sense, than the +lines commencing--"I would I were by that dim lake"--which are the +composition of Thomas Moore. I regret that I am unable to remember them. + +One of the noblest--and, speaking of Fancy--one of the most singularly +fanciful of modern poets, was Thomas Hood. His "Fair Ines" had always +for me an inexpressible charm: + + + O saw ye not fair Ines? + She's gone into the West, + To dazzle when the sun is down + And rob the world of rest + She took our daylight with her, + The smiles that we love best, + With morning blushes on her cheek, + And pearls upon her breast. + + O turn again, fair Ines, + Before the fall of night, + For fear the moon should shine alone, + And stars unrivall'd bright; + And blessed will the lover be + That walks beneath their light, + And breathes the love against thy cheek + I dare not even write! + + Would I had been, fair Ines, + That gallant cavalier, + Who rode so gaily by thy side, + And whisper'd thee so near! + Were there no bonny dames at home, + Or no true lovers here, + That he should cross the seas to win + The dearest of the dear? + + I saw thee, lovely Ines, + Descend along the shore, + With bands of noble gentlemen, + And banners-waved before; + And gentle youth and maidens gay, + And snowy plumes they wore; + It would have been a beauteous dream, + If it had been no more! + + Alas, alas, fair Ines, + She went away with song, + With Music waiting on her steps, + And shoutings of the throng; + But some were sad and felt no mirth, + But only Music's wrong, + In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell, + To her you've loved so long. + + Farewell, farewell, fair Ines, + That vessel never bore + So fair a lady on its deck, + Nor danced so light before,-- + Alas for pleasure on the sea, + And sorrow on the shore! + The smile that blest one lover's heart + Has broken many more! + + +"The Haunted House," by the same author, is one of the truest poems ever +written,--one of the truest, one of the most unexceptionable, one of the +most thoroughly artistic, both in its theme and in its execution. It is, +moreover, powerfully ideal--imaginative. I regret that its length +renders it unsuitable for the purposes of this lecture. In place of it +permit me to offer the universally appreciated "Bridge of Sighs:" + + + One more Unfortunate, + Weary of breath, + Rashly importunate + Gone to her death! + + Take her up tenderly, + Lift her with care;-- + Fashion'd so slenderly, + Young and so fair! + + Look at her garments + Clinging like cerements; + Whilst the wave constantly + Drips from her clothing; + Take her up instantly, + Loving, not loathing. + + Touch her not scornfully + Think of her mournfully, + Gently and humanly; + Not of the stains of her, + All that remains of her + Now is pure womanly. + + Make no deep scrutiny + Into her mutiny + Rash and undutiful; + Past all dishonor, + Death has left on her + Only the beautiful. + + Where the lamps quiver + So far in the river, + With many a light + From window and casement, + From garret to basement, + She stood, with amazement, + Houseless by night. + + The bleak wind of March + Made her tremble and shiver; + But not the dark arch, + Or the black flowing river: + Mad from life's history, + Glad to death's mystery, + Swift to be hurl'd-- + Anywhere, anywhere + Out of the world! + + In she plunged boldly, + No matter how coldly + The rough river ran,-- + Over the brink of it, + Picture it,--think of it, + Dissolute Man! + Lave in it, drink of it + Then, if you can! + + Still, for all slips of hers, + One of Eve's family-- + Wipe those poor lips of hers + Oozing so clammily, + Loop up her tresses + Escaped from the comb, + Her fair auburn tresses; + Whilst wonderment guesses + Where was her home? + + Who was her father? + Who was her mother! + Had she a sister? + Had she a brother? + Or was there a dearer one + Still, and a nearer one + Yet, than all other? + + Alas! for the rarity + Of Christian charity + Under the sun! + Oh! it was pitiful! + Near a whole city full, + Home she had none. + + Sisterly, brotherly, + Fatherly, motherly, + Feelings had changed: + Love, by harsh evidence, + Thrown from its eminence; + Even God's providence + Seeming estranged. + + Take her up tenderly; + Lift her with care; + Fashion'd so slenderly, + Young, and so fair! + Ere her limbs frigidly + Stiffen too rigidly, + Decently,--kindly,-- + Smooth and compose them; + And her eyes, close them, + Staring so blindly! + + Dreadfully staring + Through muddy impurity, + As when with the daring + Last look of despairing + Fixed on futurity. + + Perishing gloomily, + Spurred by contumely, + Cold inhumanity, + Burning insanity, + Into her rest,-- + Cross her hands humbly, + As if praying dumbly, + Over her breast! + Owning her weakness, + Her evil behavior, + And leaving, with meekness, + Her sins to her Saviour! + + +The vigor of this poem is no less remarkable than its pathos. The +versification, although carrying the fanciful to the very verge of the +fantastic, is nevertheless admirably adapted to the wild insanity which +is the thesis of the poem. + +Among the minor poems of Lord Byron is one which has never received from +the critics the praise which it undoubtedly deserves: + + + Though the day of my destiny's over, + And the star of my fate hath declined, + Thy soft heart refused to discover + The faults which so many could find; + Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, + It shrunk not to share it with me, + And the love which my spirit hath painted + It never hath found but in _thee._ + + Then when nature around me is smiling, + The last smile which answers to mine, + I do not believe it beguiling, + Because it reminds me of thine; + And when winds are at war with the ocean, + As the breasts I believed in with me, + If their billows excite an emotion, + It is that they bear me from _thee._ + + Though the rock of my last hope is shivered, + And its fragments are sunk in the wave, + Though I feel that my soul is delivered + To pain--it shall not be its slave. + There is many a pang to pursue me: + They may crush, but they shall not contemn-- + They may torture, but shall not subdue me-- + 'Tis of _thee_ that I think--not of them. + + Though human, thou didst not deceive me, + Though woman, thou didst not forsake, + Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me, + Though slandered, thou never couldst shake,-- + Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me, + Though parted, it was not to fly, + Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me, + Nor mute, that the world might belie. + + Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it, + Nor the war of the many with one-- + If my soul was not fitted to prize it, + 'Twas folly not sooner to shun: + And if dearly that error hath cost me, + And more than I once could foresee, + I have found that whatever it lost me, + It could not deprive me of _thee_. + + From the wreck of the past, which hath perished, + Thus much I at least may recall, + It hath taught me that which I most cherished + Deserved to be dearest of all: + In the desert a fountain is springing, + In the wide waste there still is a tree, + And a bird in the solitude singing, + Which speaks to my spirit of _thee_. + + +Although the rhythm here is one of the most difficult, the versification +could scarcely be improved. No nobler theme ever engaged the pen of +poet. It is the soul-elevating idea that no man can consider himself +entitled to complain of Fate while in his adversity he still retains the +unwavering love of woman. + +From Alfred Tennyson, although in perfect sincerity I regard him as the +noblest poet that ever lived, I have left myself time to cite only a +very brief specimen. I call him, and _think_ him the noblest of poets, +_not_ because the impressions he produces are at _all_ times the most +profound--_not_ because the poetical excitement which he induces is at +_all_ times the most intense--but because it is at all times the most +ethereal--in other words, the most elevating and most pure. No poet is +so little of the earth, earthy. What I am about to read is from his last +long poem, "The Princess:" + + + Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, + Tears from the depth of some divine despair + Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, + In looking on the happy Autumn fields, + And thinking of the days that are no more. + + Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, + That brings our friends up from the underworld, + Sad as the last which reddens over one + That sinks with all we love below the verge; + So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. + + Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns + The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds + To dying ears, when unto dying eyes + The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; + So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. + + Dear as remember'd kisses after death, + And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd + On lips that are for others; deep as love, + Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; + O Death in Life, the days that are no more. + + +Thus, although in a very cursory and imperfect manner, I have endeavored +to convey to you my conception of the Poetic Principle. It has been my +purpose to suggest that, while this Principle itself is strictly and +simply the Human Aspiration for Supernal Beauty, the manifestation of +the Principle is always found in _an elevating excitement of the soul_, +quite independent of that passion which is the intoxication of the +Heart, or of that truth which is the satisfaction of the Reason. For in +regard to passion, alas! its tendency is to degrade rather than to +elevate the Soul. Love, on the contrary--Love--the true, the divine +Eros--the Uranian as distinguished from the Dionasan Venus--is +unquestionably the purest and truest of all poetical themes. And in +regard to Truth, if, to be sure, through the attainment of a truth we +are led to perceive a harmony where none was apparent before, we +experience at once the true poetical effect; but this effect is +referable to the harmony alone, and not in the least degree to the truth +which merely served to render the harmony manifest. + +We shall reach, however, more immediately a distinct conception of what +true Poetry is, by mere reference to a few of the simple elements which +induce in the Poet himself the true poetical effect. He recognizes the +ambrosia which nourishes his soul in the bright orbs that shine in +Heaven, in the volutes of the flower, in the clustering of low +shrubberies, in the waving of the grain-fields, in the slanting of tall +eastern trees, in the blue distance of mountains, in the grouping of +clouds, in the twinkling of half-hidden brooks, in the gleaming of +silver rivers, in the repose of sequestered lakes, in the star-mirroring +depths of lonely wells. He perceives it in the songs of birds, in the +harp of Æolus, in the sighing of the night-wind, in the repining voice +of the forest, in the surf that complains to the shore, in the fresh +breath of the woods, in the scent of the violet, in the voluptuous +perfume of the hyacinth, in the suggestive odor that comes to him at +eventide from far-distant undiscovered islands, over dim oceans, +illimitable and unexplored. He owns it in all noble thoughts, in all +unworldly motives, in all holy impulses, in all chivalrous, generous, +and self-sacrificing deeds. He feels it in the beauty of woman, in the +grace of her step, in the lustre of her eye, in the melody of her voice, +in her soft laughter, in her sigh, in the harmony of the rustling of her +robes. He deeply feels it in her winning endearments, in her burning +enthusiasms, in her gentle charities, in her meek and devotional +endurance, but above all, ah, far above all, he kneels to it, he +worships it in the faith, in the purity, in the strength, in the +altogether divine majesty of her _love._ + +Let me conclude by the recitation of yet another brief poem, one very +different in character from any that I have before quoted. It is by +Motherwell, and is called "The Song of the Cavalier." With our modern +and altogether rational ideas of the absurdity and impiety of warfare, +we are not precisely in that frame of mind best adapted to sympathize +with the sentiments, and thus to appreciate the real excellence of the +poem. To do this fully we must identify ourselves in fancy with the soul +of the old cavalier: + + + A steed! a steed! of matchless speede! + A sword of metal keene! + Al else to noble heartes is drosse-- + Al else on earth is meane. + The neighynge of the war-horse prowde. + The rowleing of the drum, + The clangor of the trumpet lowde-- + Be soundes from heaven that come. + And oh! the thundering presse of knightes, + When as their war-cryes welle, + May tole from heaven an angel bright, + And rowse a fiend from hell, + + Then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants all, + And don your helmes amaine, + Deathe's couriers, Fame and Honor, call + Us to the field againe. + No shrewish teares shall fill your eye + When the sword-hilt's in our hand,-- + Heart-whole we'll part, and no whit sighe + For the fayrest of the land; + Let piping swaine, and craven wight, + Thus weepe and puling crye, + Our business is like men to fight, + And hero-like to die! + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +THE PHILOSOPHY OF COMPOSITION. + + +Charles Dickens, in a note now lying before me, alluding to an +examination I once made of the mechanism of _Barnaby Rudge_, says--"By +the way, are you aware that Godwin wrote his _Caleb Williams_ backwards? +He first involved his hero in a web of difficulties, forming the second +volume, and then, for the first, cast about him for some mode of +accounting for what had been done." + +I cannot think this the _precise_ mode of procedure on the part of +Godwin--and indeed what he himself acknowledges is not altogether in +accordance with Mr. Dickens's idea--but the author of _Caleb Williams_ +was too good an artist not to perceive the advantage derivable from at +least a somewhat similar process. Nothing is more clear than that every +plot, worth the name, must be elaborated to its _dénouement_ before +anything be attempted with the pen. It is only with the _dénouement_ +constantly in view that we can give a plot its indispensable air of +consequence, or causation, by making the incidents, and especially the +tone at all points, tend to the development of the intention. + +There is a radical error, I think, in the usual mode of constructing a +story. Either history affords a thesis--or one is suggested by an +incident of the day--or, at best, the author sets himself to work in the +combination of striking events to form merely the basis of his +narrative---designing, generally, to fill in with description, dialogue, +or autorial comment, whatever crevices of fact or action may, from page +to page, render themselves apparent. + +I prefer commencing with the consideration of an _effect._ Keeping +originality _always_ in view--for he is false to himself who ventures to +dispense with so obvious and so easily attainable a source of +interest--I say to myself, in the first place, "Of the innumerable +effects or impressions of which the heart, the intellect, or (more +generally) the soul is susceptible, what one shall I, on the present +occasion, select?" Having chosen a novel first, and secondly, a vivid +effect, I consider whether it can be best wrought by incident or +tone--whether by ordinary incidents and peculiar tone, or the converse, +or by peculiarity both of incident and tone--afterwards looking about me +(or rather within) for such combinations of events or tone as shall best +aid me in the construction of the effect. + +I have often thought how interesting a magazine paper might be written +by any author who would--that is to say, who could--detail, step by +step, the processes by which any one of his compositions attained its +ultimate point of completion. Why such a paper has never been given to +the world, I am much at a loss to say--but perhaps the autorial vanity +has had more to do with the omission than any one other cause. Most +writers--poets in especial--prefer having it understood that they +compose by a species of fine frenzy--an ecstatic intuition--and would +positively shudder at letting the public take a peep behind the scenes, +at the elaborate and vacillating crudities of thought--at the true +purposes seized only at the last moment--at the innumerable glimpses of +idea that arrived not at the maturity of full view--at the fully-matured +fancies discarded in despair as unmanageable--at the cautious selections +and rejections--at the painful erasures and interpolations,--in a word, +at the wheels and pinions, the tackle for scene-shifting, the +step-ladders and demon-traps, the cock's feathers, the red paint, and +the black patches, which, in ninety-nine cases out of the hundred, +constitute the properties of the literary _histrio._ + +I am aware, on the other hand, that the case is by no means common, in +which an author is at all in condition to retrace the steps by which his +conclusions have been attained. In general, suggestions, having arisen +pell-mell, are pursued and forgotten in a similar manner. + +For my own part, I have neither sympathy with the repugnance alluded to, +nor, at any time, the least difficulty in recalling to mind the +progressive steps of any of my compositions; and, since the interest of +an analysis, or reconstruction, such as I have considered a +_desideratum_, is quite independent of any real or fancied interest in +the thing analyzed, it will not be regarded as a breach of decorum on my +part to show the _modus operandi_ by which some one of my own works was +put together. I select "The Raven" as most generally known. It is my +design to render it manifest that no one point in its composition is +referrible either to accident or intuition--that the work proceeded, +step by step, to its completion with the precision and rigid consequence +of a mathematical problem. + +Let us dismiss, as irrelevant to the poem, _per se_, the +circumstance--or say the necessity--which, in the first place, gave rise +to the intention of composing _a_ poem that should suit at once the +popular and the critical taste. + +We commence, then, with this intention. + +The initial consideration was that of extent. If any literary work is +too long to be read at one sitting, we must be content to dispense with +the immensely important effect derivable from unity of impression--for, +if two sittings be required, the affairs of the world interfere, and +everything like totality is at once destroyed. But since, _ceteris +paribus_, no poet can afford to dispense with _anything_ that may +advance his design, it but remains to be seen whether there is, in +extent, any advantage to counterbalance the loss of unity which attends +it. Here I say no, at once. What we term a long poem is, in fact, merely +a succession of brief ones--that is to say, of brief poetical effects. +It is needless to demonstrate that a poem is such only inasmuch as it +intensely excites, by elevating the soul; and all intense excitements +are, through a psychal necessity, brief. For this reason, at least +one-half of the "Paradise Lost" is essentially prose--a succession of +poetical excitements interspersed, _inevitably_, with corresponding +depressions--the whole being deprived, through the extremeness of its +length, of the vastly important artistic element, totality, or unity of +effect. + +It appears evident, then, that there is a distinct limit, as regards +length, to all works of literary art--the limit of a single sitting--and +that, although in certain classes of prose composition, such as +_Robinson Crusoe_ (demanding no unity), this limit may be advantageously +overpassed, it can never properly be overpassed in a poem. Within this +limit, the extent of a poem may be made to bear mathematical relation to +its merit--in other words, to the excitement or elevation--again, in +other words, to the degree of the true poetical effect which it is +capable of inducing; for it is clear that the brevity must be in direct +ratio of the intensity of the intended effect--this, with one +proviso--that a certain degree of duration is absolutely requisite for +the production of any effect at all. + +Holding in view these considerations, as well as that degree of +excitement which I deemed not above the popular, while not below the +critical taste, I reached at once what I conceived the proper _length_ +for my intended poem--a length of about one hundred lines. It is, in +fact, a hundred and eight. + +My next thought concerned the choice of an impression, or effect, to be +conveyed: and here I may as well observe that, throughout the +construction, I kept steadily in view the design of rendering the work +_universally_ appreciable. I should be carried too far out of my +immediate topic were I to demonstrate a point upon which I have +repeatedly insisted, and which, with the poetical, stands not in the +slightest need of demonstration--the point, I mean, that Beauty is the +sole legitimate province of the poem. A few words, however, in +elucidation of my real meaning, which some of my friends have evinced a +disposition to misrepresent. That pleasure which is at once the most +intense, the most elevating, and the most pure, is, I believe, found in +the contemplation of the beautiful. When, indeed, men speak of Beauty, +they mean, precisely, not a quality, as is supposed, but an effect--they +refer, in short, just to that intense and pure elevation of _soul_ +--_not_ of intellect, or of heart--upon which I have commented, and +which is experienced in consequence of contemplating "the beautiful." +Now I designate Beauty as the province of the poem, merely because it is +an obvious rule of Art that effects should be made to spring from direct +causes--that objects should be attained through means best adapted for +their attainment--no one as yet having been weak enough to deny that the +peculiar elevation alluded to is _most readily_ attained in the poem. +Now the object Truth, or the satisfaction of the intellect, and the +object Passion, or the excitement of the heart, are, although attainable +to a certain extent in poetry, far more readily attainable in prose. +Truth, in fact, demands a precision, and Passion a _homeliness_ (the +truly passionate will comprehend me) which are absolutely antagonistic +to that Beauty which, I maintain, is the excitement, or pleasurable +elevation, of the soul. It by no means follows from anything here said +that passion, or even truth, may not be introduced, and even profitably +introduced, into a poem--for they may serve in elucidation, or aid the +general effect, as do discords in music, by contrast--but the true +artist will always contrive, first, to tone them into proper +subservience to the predominant aim, and secondly, to enveil them, as +far as possible, in that Beauty which is the atmosphere and the essence +of the poem. + +Regarding, then, Beauty as my province, my next question referred to the +_tone_ of its highest manifestation--and all experience has shown that +this tone is one of _sadness_. Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme +development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears. Melancholy +is thus the most legitimate of all the poetical tones. + +The length, the province, and the tone being thus determined, I betook +myself to ordinary induction, with the view of obtaining some artistic +piquancy which might serve me as a key-note in the construction of the +poem--some pivot upon which the whole structure might turn. In carefully +thinking over all the usual artistic effects--or more properly _points_, +in the theatrical sense--I did not fail to perceive immediately that no +one had been so universally employed as that of the _refrain_. The +universality of its employment sufficed to assure me of its intrinsic +value, and spared me the necessity of submitting it to analysis. I +considered it, however, with regard to its susceptibility of +improvement, and soon saw it to be in a primitive condition. As commonly +used, the _refrain_, or burden, not only is limited to lyric verse, but +depends for its impression upon the force of monotone--both in sound and +thought. The pleasure is deduced solely from the sense of identity--of +repetition. I resolved to diversify, and so heighten the effect, by +adhering in general to the monotone of sound, while I continually varied +that of thought: that is to say, I determined to produce continuously +novel effects, by the variation _of the application_ of the +_refrain_--the _refrain_ itself remaining, for the most part, unvaried. + +These points being settled, I next bethought me of the _nature_ of my +_refrain_. Since its application was to be repeatedly varied, it was +clear that the _refrain_ itself must be brief, for there would have been +an insurmountable difficulty in frequent variations of application in +any sentence of length. In proportion to the brevity of the sentence +would of course be the facility of the variation. This led me at once to +a single word as the best _refrain_. + +The question now arose as to the _character_ of the word. Having made up +my mind to a _refrain_, the division of the poem into stanzas was of +course a corollary, the _refrain_ forming the close to each stanza. That +such a close, to have force, must be sonorous and susceptible of +protracted emphasis, admitted no doubt, and these considerations +inevitably led me to the long _o_ as the most sonorous vowel in +connection with _r_ as the most producible consonant. + +The sound of the _refrain_ being thus determined, it became necessary to +select a word embodying this sound, and at the same time in the fullest +possible keeping with that melancholy which I had predetermined as the +tone of the poem. In such a search it would have been absolutely +impossible to overlook the word "Nevermore." In fact, it was the very +first which presented itself. + +The next _desideratum_ was a pretext for the continuous use of the one +word "nevermore." In observing the difficulty which I at once found in +inventing a sufficiently plausible reason for its continuous repetition, +I did not fail to perceive that this difficulty arose solely from the +pre-assumption that the word was to be so continuously or monotonously +spoken by a _human_ being--I did not fail to perceive, in short, that +the difficulty lay in the reconciliation of this monotony with the +exercise of reason on the part of the creature repeating the word. Here, +then, immediately arose the idea of a _non_-reasoning creature capable +of speech; and very naturally, a parrot, in the first instance, +suggested itself, but was superseded forthwith by a Raven as equally +capable of speech, and infinitely more in keeping with the intended +_tone_. + +I had now gone so far as the conception of a Raven, the bird of +ill-omen, monotonously repeating the one word "Nevermore" at the +conclusion of each stanza in a poem of melancholy tone, and in length +about one hundred lines. Now, never losing sight of the object +_supremeness_ or perfection at all points, I asked myself--"Of all +melancholy topics what, according to the _universal_ understanding of +mankind, is the _most_ melancholy?" Death, was the obvious reply. "And +when," I said, "is this most melancholy of topics most poetical?" From +what I have already explained at some length, the answer here also is +obvious--"When it most closely allies itself to _Beauty_; the death, +then, of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in +the world, and equally is it beyond doubt that the lips best suited for +such topic are those of a bereaved lover." + +I had now to combine the two ideas of a lover lamenting his deceased +mistress and a Raven continuously repeating the word "Nevermore." I had +to combine these, bearing in mind my design of varying at every turn the +_application_ of the word repeated, but the only intelligible mode of +such combination is that of imagining the Raven employing the word in +answer to the queries of the lover. And here it was that I saw at once +the opportunity afforded for the effect on which I had been depending, +that is to say, the effect of the _variation of application_. I saw that +I could make the first query propounded by the lover--the first query to +which the Raven should reply "Nevermore"--that I could make this first +query a commonplace one, the second less so, the third still less, and +so on, until at length the lover, startled from his original +_nonchalance_ by the melancholy character of the word itself, by its +frequent repetition, and by a consideration of the ominous reputation of +the fowl that uttered it, is at length excited to superstition, and +wildly propounds queries of a far different character--queries whose +solution he has passionately at heart--propounds them half in +superstition and half in that species of despair which delights in +self-torture--propounds them not altogether because he believes in the +prophetic or demoniac character of the bird (which reason assures him is +merely repeating a lesson learned by rote), but because he experiences a +frenzied pleasure in so modelling his questions as to receive from the +_expected_ "Nevermore" the most delicious because the most intolerable +of sorrow. Perceiving the opportunity thus afforded me, or, more +strictly, thus forced upon me in the progress of the construction, I +first established in mind the climax or concluding query--that query to +which "Nevermore" should be in the last place an answer--that query in +reply to which this word "Nevermore" should involve the utmost +conceivable amount of sorrow and despair. + +Here then the poem may be said to have its beginning, at the end where +all works of art should begin; for it was here at this point of my +preconsiderations that I first put pen to paper in the composition of +the stanza: + + + "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 Aidenn, + It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-- + Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." + Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." + + +I composed this stanza, at this point, first that, by establishing the +climax, I might the better vary and graduate, as regards seriousness, +and importance the preceding queries of the lover, and secondly, that I +might definitely settle the rhythm, the metre, and the length and +general arrangement of the stanza, as well as graduate the stanzas which +were to precede, so that none of them might surpass this in rhythmical +effect. Had I been able in the subsequent composition to construct more +vigorous stanzas, I should without scruple have purposely enfeebled them +so as not to interfere with the climacteric effect. + +And here I may as well say a few words of the versification. My first +object (as usual) was originality. The extent to which this has been +neglected in versification is one of the most unaccountable things in +the world. Admitting that there is little possibility of variety in mere +_rhythm_, it is still clear that the possible varieties of metre and +stanza are absolutely infinite; and yet, for _centuries, no man, in +verse has ever done, or ever seemed to think of doing, an original +thing_. The fact is that originality (unless in minds of very unusual +force) is by no means a matter, as some suppose, of impulse or +intuition. In general, to be found, it must be elaborately sought and, +although a positive merit of the highest class, demands in its +attainment less of invention than negation. + +Of course I pretend to no originality in either the rhythm or metre of +the "Raven." The former is trochaic--the latter is octametre +acatalectic, alternating with heptametre catalectic repeated in the +_refrain_ of the fifth verse, and terminating with tetrametre +catalectic. Less pedantically, the feet employed throughout (trochees) +consists of a long syllable followed by a short; the first line of the +stanza consists of eight of these feet, the second of seven and a half +(in effect two-thirds), the third of eight, the fourth of seven and a +half, the fifth the same, the sixth three and a half. Now, each of these +lines taken individually has been employed before, and what originality +the "Raven" has, is in their _combinations into stanzas;_ nothing even +remotely approaching this combination has ever been attempted. The +effect of this originality of combination is aided by other unusual and +some altogether novel effects, arising from an extension of the +application of the principles of rhyme and alliteration. + +The next point to be considered was the mode of bringing together the +lover and the Raven--and the first branch of this consideration was the +_locale_. For this the most natural suggestion might seem to be a +forest, or the fields--but it has always appeared to me that a close +_circumscription of space_ is absolutely necessary to the effect of +insulated incident--it has the force of a frame to a picture. It has an +indisputable moral power in keeping concentrated the attention, and, of +course, must not be confounded with mere unity of place. + +I determined, then, to place the lover in his chamber--in a chamber +rendered sacred to him by memories of her who had frequented it. The +room is represented as richly furnished--this in mere pursuance of the +ideas I have already explained on the subject of Beauty, as the sole +true poetical thesis. + +The _locale_ being thus determined, I had now to introduce the bird--and +the thought of introducing him through the window was inevitable. The +idea of making the lover suppose, in the first instance, that the +flapping of the wings of the bird against the shutter, is a "tapping" at +the door, originated in a wish to increase, by prolonging, the reader's +curiosity, and in a desire to admit the incidental effect arising from +the lover's throwing open the door, finding all dark, and thence +adopting the half-fancy that it was the spirit of his mistress that +knocked. + +I made the night tempestuous, first to account for the Raven's seeking +admission, and secondly, for the effect of contrast with the (physical) +serenity within the chamber. + +I made the bird alight on the bust of Pallas, also for the effect of +contrast between the marble and the plumage--it being understood that +the bust was absolutely _suggested_ by the bird--the bust of _Pallas_ +being chosen, first, as most in keeping with the scholarship of the +lover, and, secondly, for the sonorousness of the word, Pallas, itself. + +About the middle of the poem, also, I have availed myself of the force +of contrast, with a view of deepening the ultimate impression. For +example, an air of the fantastic--approaching as nearly to the ludicrous +as was admissible--is given to the Raven's entrance. He comes in "with +many a flirt and flutter." + + + Not the _least obeisance made he_--not a moment stopped or stayed he, + _But with mien of lord or lady_, perched above my chamber door. + + +In the two stanzas which follow, the design is more obviously carried +out: + + + 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." + + Much I marvelled _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 upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door_, + With such name as "Nevermore." + + +The effect of the dénouement being thus provided for, I immediately drop +the fantastic for a tone of the most profound seriousness--this tone +commencing in the stanza directly following the one last quoted, with +the line, + + + But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only, etc. + + +From this epoch the lover no longer jests--no longer sees anything even +of the fantastic in the Raven's demeanor. He speaks of him as a "grim, +ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore," and feels the +"fiery eyes" burning into his "bosom's core." This revolution of +thought, or fancy, on the lover's part, is intended to induce a similar +one on the part of the reader--to bring the mind into a proper frame for +the _dénouement_--which is now brought about as rapidly and as +_directly_ as possible. + +With the _dénouement_ proper--with the Raven's reply, "Nevermore," to +the lover's final demand if he shall meet his mistress in another +world--the poem, in its obvious phase, that of a simple narrative, may +be said to have its completion. So far, everything is within the limits +of the accountable--of the real. A raven having learned by rote the +single word "Nevermore," and having escaped from the custody of its +owner, is driven at midnight, through the violence of a storm, to seek +admission at a window from which a light still gleams--the +chamber-window of a student, occupied half in pouring over a volume, +half in dreaming of a beloved mistress deceased. The casement being +thrown open at the fluttering of the bird's wings, the bird itself +perches on the most convenient seat out of the immediate reach of the +student, who, amused by the incident and the oddity of the visitor's +demeanor, demands of it, in jest and with out looking for a reply, its +name. The Raven addressed, answers with its customary word, +"Nevermore"--a word which finds immediate echo in the melancholy heart +of the student, who, giving utterance aloud to certain thoughts +suggested by the occasion, is again startled by the fowl's repetition of +"Nevermore." The student now guesses the state of the case, but is +impelled, as I have before explained, by the human thirst for +self-torture, and in part by superstition, to propound such queries to +the bird as will bring him, the lover, the most of the luxury of sorrow +through the anticipated answer "Nevermore." With the indulgence, to the +extreme, of this self-torture, the narration, in what I have termed its +first or obvious phase, has a natural termination, and so far there has +been no overstepping of the limits of the real. + +But in subjects so handled, however skilfully, or with however vivid an +array of incident, there is always a certain hardness or nakedness which +repels the artistical eye. Two things are invariably required--first, +some amount of complexity, or more properly, adaptation; and, secondly, +some amount of suggestiveness, some undercurrent, however indefinite of +meaning. It is this latter, in especial, which imparts to a work of art +so much of that _richness_ (to borrow from colloquy a forcible term) +which we are too fond of confounding with _the ideal_. It is the +_excess_ of the suggested meaning--it is the rendering this the upper +instead of the under current of theme--which turns into prose (and that +of the very flattest kind) the so-called poetry of the so-called +transcendentalists. + +Holding these opinions, I added the two concluding stanzas of the +poem--their suggestiveness being thus made to pervade all the narrative +which has preceded them. The undercurrent of meaning is rendered first +apparent in the lines: + + + "Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" + Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!" + + +It will be observed that the words, "from out my heart," involve the +first metaphorical expression in the poem. They, with the answer, +"Nevermore," dispose the mind to seek a moral in all that has been +previously narrated. The reader begins now to regard the Raven as +emblematical--but it is not until the very last line of the very last +stanza, that the intention of making him emblematical of _Mournful and +never-ending Remembrance_ is permitted distinctly to be seen: + + + 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 lamplight o'er 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! + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +OLD ENGLISH POETRY. [1] + + +It should not be doubted that at least one-third of the affection with +which we regard the elder poets of Great Britain should be attributed to +what is, in itself, a thing apart from poetry--we mean to the simple +love of the antique--and that, again, a third of even the proper _poetic +sentiment_ inspired by their writings, should be ascribed to a fact +which, while it has strict connection with poetry in the abstract, and +with the old British poems themselves, should not be looked upon as a +merit appertaining to the authors of the poems. Almost every devout +admirer of the old bards, if demanded his opinion of their productions, +would mention vaguely, yet with perfect sincerity, a sense of dreamy, +wild, indefinite, and he would perhaps say, indefinable delight; on +being required to point out the source of this so shadowy pleasure, he +would be apt to speak of the quaint in phraseology and in general +handling. This quaintness is, in fact, a very powerful adjunct to +ideality, but in the case in question it arises independently of the +author's will, and is altogether apart from his intention. Words and +their rhythm have varied. Verses which affect us to-day with a vivid +delight, and which delight, in many instances, may be traced to the one +source, quaintness, must have worn in the days of their construction a +very commonplace air. This is, of course, no argument against the poems +_now_--we mean it only as against the poets _then_. There is a growing +desire to overrate them. The old English muse was frank, guileless, +sincere and although very learned, still learned without art. No general +error evinces a more thorough confusion of ideas than the error of +supposing Donne and Cowley metaphysical in the sense wherein Wordsworth +and Coleridge are so. With the two former ethics were the end--with the +two latter the means. The poet of the "Creation" wished, by highly +artificial verse, to inculcate what he supposed to be moral truth--the +poet of the "Ancient Mariner" to infuse the Poetic Sentiment through +channels suggested by analysis. The one finished by complete failure +what he commenced in the grossest misconception; the other, by a path +which could not possibly lead him astray, arrived at a triumph which is +not the less glorious because hidden from the profane eyes of the +multitude. But in this view even the "metaphysical verse" of Cowley is +but evidence of the simplicity and single-heartedness of the man. And he +was in this but a type of his _school_--for we may as well designate in +this way the entire class of writers whose poems are bound up in the +volume before us, and throughout all of whom there runs a very +perceptible general character. They used little art in composition. +Their writings sprang immediately from the soul--and partook intensely +of that soul's nature. Nor is it difficult to perceive the tendency of +this _abandon_--to elevate immeasurably all the energies of mind--but, +again, so to mingle the greatest possible fire, force, delicacy, and all +good things, with the lowest possible bathos, baldness, and imbecility, +as to render it not a matter of doubt that the average results of mind +in such a school will be found inferior to those results in one +(_ceteris paribus_) more artificial. + +We cannot bring ourselves to believe that the selections of the "Book of +Gems" are such as will impart to a poetical reader the clearest possible +idea of the beauty of the _school_--but if the intention had been merely +to show the school's character, the attempt might have been considered +successful in the highest degree. There are long passages now before us +of the most despicable trash, with no merit whatever beyond that of +their antiquity. The criticisms of the editor do not particularly please +us. His enthusiasm is too general and too vivid not to be false. His +opinion, for example, of Sir Henry's Wotton's "Verses on the Queen of +Bohemia"--that "there are few finer things in our language," is +untenable and absurd. + +In such lines we can perceive not one of those higher attributes of +Poesy which belong to her in all circumstances and throughout all time. +Here everything is art, nakedly, or but awkwardly concealed. No +prepossession for the mere antique (and in this case we can imagine no +other prepossession) should induce us to dignify with the sacred name of +poetry, a series, such as this, of elaborate and threadbare compliments, +stitched, apparently, together, without fancy, without plausibility, and +without even an attempt at adaptation. + +In common with all the world, we have been much delighted with "The +Shepherd's Hunting" by Withers--a poem partaking, in a remarkable +degree, of the peculiarities of 'Il Penseroso'. Speaking of Poesy, the +author says: + + + "By the murmur of a spring, + Or the least boughs rustleling, + By a daisy whose leaves spread, + Shut when Titan goes to bed, + Or a shady bush or tree, + She could more infuse in me + Than all Nature's beauties con + In some other wiser man. + By her help I also now + Make this churlish place allow + Something that may sweeten gladness + In the very gall of sadness-- + The dull loneness, the black shade, + That these hanging vaults have made + The strange music of the waves + Beating on these hollow caves, + This black den which rocks emboss, + Overgrown with eldest moss, + The rude portals that give light + More to terror than delight, + This my chamber of neglect + Walled about with disrespect; + From all these and this dull air + A fit object for despair, + She hath taught me by her might + To draw comfort and delight." + + +But these lines, however good, do not bear with them much of the general +character of the English antique. Something more of this will be found +in Corbet's "Farewell to the Fairies!" We copy a portion of Marvell's +"Maiden lamenting for her Fawn," which we prefer--not only as a specimen +of the elder poets, but in itself as a beautiful poem, abounding in +pathos, exquisitely delicate imagination and truthfulness--to anything +of its species: + + + "It is a wondrous thing how fleet + 'Twas on those little silver feet, + With what a pretty skipping grace + It oft would challenge me the race, + And when't had left me far away + 'Twould stay, and run again, and stay; + For it was nimbler much than hinds, + And trod as if on the four winds. + I have a garden of my own, + But so with roses overgrown, + And lilies, that you would it guess + To be a little wilderness; + And all the spring-time of the year + It only loved to be there. + Among the beds of lilies I + Have sought it oft where it should lie, + Yet could not, till itself would rise, + Find it, although before mine eyes. + For in the flaxen lilies shade + It like a bank of lilies laid; + Upon the roses it would feed + Until its lips even seemed to bleed, + And then to me 'twould boldly trip, + And print those roses on my lip, + But all its chief delight was still + With roses thus itself to fill, + And its pure virgin limbs to fold + In whitest sheets of lilies cold, + Had it lived long, it would have been + Lilies without, roses within." + + +How truthful an air of lamentations hangs here upon every syllable! It +pervades all. It comes over the sweet melody of the words--over the +gentleness and grace which we fancy in the little maiden herself--even +over the half-playful, half-petulant air with which she lingers on the +beauties and good qualities of her favorite--like the cool shadow of a +summer cloud over a bed of lilies and violets, "and all sweet flowers." +The whole is redolent with poetry of a very lofty order. Every line is +an idea conveying either the beauty and playfulness of the fawn, or the +artlessness of the maiden, or her love, or her admiration, or her grief, +or the fragrance and warmth and _appropriateness_ of the little +nest-like bed of lilies and roses which the fawn devoured as it lay upon +them, and could scarcely be distinguished from them by the once happy +little damsel who went to seek her pet with an arch and rosy smile on +her face. Consider the great variety of truthful and delicate thought in +the few lines we have quoted--the _wonder_ of the little maiden at the +fleetness of her favorite--the "little silver feet"--the fawn +challenging his mistress to a race with "a pretty skipping grace," +running on before, and then, with head turned back, awaiting her +approach only to fly from it again--can we not distinctly perceive all +these things? How exceedingly vigorous, too, is the line, + + + "And trod as if on the four winds!" + + +a vigor apparent only when we keep in mind the artless character of the +speaker and the four feet of the favorite, one for each wind. Then +consider the garden of "my own," so overgrown, entangled with roses and +lilies, as to be "a little wilderness"--the fawn loving to be there, and +there "only"--the maiden seeking it "where it _should_ lie"--and not +being able to distinguish it from the flowers until "itself would +rise"--the lying among the lilies "like a bank of lilies"--the loving to +"fill itself with roses," + + + "And its pure virgin limbs to fold + In whitest sheets of lilies cold," + + +and these things being its "chief" delights--and then the pre-eminent +beauty and naturalness of the concluding lines, whose very hyperbole +only renders them more true to nature when we consider the innocence, +the artlessness, the enthusiasm, the passionate girl, and more +passionate admiration of the bereaved child: + + + "Had it lived long, it would have been + Lilies without, roses within." + + + +[Footnote 1: "The Book of Gems." Edited by S. C. Hall.] + + +END OF TEXT + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10031 *** |