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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79019 ***
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber‘s Notes:
+
+  Underscores “_” before and after a word or phrase indicate _italics_
+    in the original text.
+  Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals.
+  Illustrations have been moved so they do not break up stanzas.
+  Deprecated spellings have been preserved.
+  Typographical and punctuation errors have been silently corrected.
+
+
+
+
+                               THE
+                          POETICAL WORKS
+                                OF
+                         EDGAR ALLAN POE
+
+                      WITH ORIGINAL MEMOIR.
+
+              ILLUSTRATED BY F. R. PICKERSGILL, R.A.
+    JOHN TENNIEL, BIRKET FOSTER, FELIX DARLEY, JASPER CROPSEY,
+          P. DUGGAN, PERCIVAL SKELTON, AND A. M. MADOT.
+
+                          [Illustration]
+
+                             LONDON:
+             SAMPSON LOW, SON & CO. 47, LUDGATE HILL.
+                           MDCCCLVIII.
+
+                             LONDON:
+                     PRINTED BY RICHARD CLAY,
+                        BREAD STREET HILL.
+
+
+
+
+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.
+
+    E. A. P.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+    MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:—
+              PAGE
+        THE RAVEN                                      1
+        LENORE                                         9
+        A VALENTINE                                   12
+        THE COLISEUM                                  13
+        TO —— ——                                      15
+        TO HELEN                                      17
+        AN ENIGMA                                     22
+        ULALUME                                       23
+        TO ——                                         28
+        TO MY MOTHER                                  29
+        THE BELLS                                     30
+        THE CONQUEROR WORM                            39
+        ANNABEL LEE                                   42
+        THE VALLEY OF UNREST                          46
+        ISRAFEL                                       48
+        SILENCE                                       52
+        TO ZANTE                                      53
+        TO F——S S. O——D                               55
+        BRIDAL BALLAD                                 56
+        THE HAUNTED PALACE                            58
+        EULALIE                                       62
+        TO F——                                        64
+        TO ONE IN PARADISE                            65
+        DREAM-LAND                                    67
+        HYMN                                          71
+        THE SLEEPER                                   72
+        FOR ANNIE                                     76
+        ELDORADO                                      82
+        A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM                        85
+        THE CITY IN THE SEA                           87
+        SCENES FROM “POLITIAN;” AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA  91
+
+    POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH:—
+        AL AARAAF                                    149
+        SONNET—TO SCIENCE                            173
+        TO THE RIVER ——                              174
+        TAMERLANE                                    176
+        TO ——                                        192
+        A DREAM                                      194
+        ROMANCE                                      195
+        FAIRY-LAND                                   197
+        THE LAKE.——TO——                              201
+        SONG                                         203
+        TO M. L. S.                                  204
+        TO HELEN                                     205
+
+        NOTES TO AL AARAAF                           207
+
+        THE POETIC PRINCIPLE                         217
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS.
+
+
+                                        ARTIST.       ENGRAVER.    PAGE
+    Portrait of Edgar Allan Poe.    DAGUERREOTYPE    _J. Cooper_   xvii
+
+                     THE RAVEN.
+    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each
+          purple curtain
+    Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors
+          never felt before.
+                                    JOHN TENNIEL     _J. Cooper_      1
+
+    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.
+                                    JOHN TENNIEL     _J. Cooper_      3
+
+    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by
+          these angels he hath sent thee
+    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories
+          of Lenore!”
+                                    JOHN TENNIEL     _J. Cooper_      6
+
+    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting,
+          still is sitting
+    On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my
+          chamber door.
+                                    JOHN TENNIEL     _J. Cooper_      8
+
+                         LENORE.
+    The life upon her yellow hair, but not within
+          her eyes—
+    The life still there, upon her hair—the death
+          upon her eyes.
+                                 F. R. PICKERSGILL   _W. J. Linton_   9
+
+    The sweet Lenore hath “gone before,” with Hope,
+          that flew beside,
+    Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should
+          have been thy bride.
+                                 FELIX DARLEY        _J. Cooper_     11
+
+                    THE COLISEUM.
+    But stay! these walls—these ivy-clad arcades—
+    These mouldering plinths—these sad and
+          blackened shafts.
+                                 JASPER CROPSEY      _W. J. Linton_  13
+
+                      TO HELEN.
+    It was a July midnight; and from out
+    A full-orbed moon, ...
+    There fell a silvery-silken veil of light.
+                                  BIRKET FOSTER      _W. T. Green_   17
+
+    Clad all in white, upon a violet bank
+    I saw thee half reclining.
+                              F. R. PICKERSGILL      _W. J. Linton_  19
+
+    And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees
+    Didst glide away.
+                                  BIRKET FOSTER      _J. Cooper_     21
+
+                      ULALUME.
+    It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
+        In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
+                                 JASPER CROPSEY      _W. J. Linton_  23
+
+    That I brought a dread burden down here—
+    On this night of all nights in the year.
+                              F. R. PICKERSGILL      _W. J. Linton_  27
+
+                      THE BELLS.
+    Hear the sledges with the bells—
+            Silver bells!          FELIX DARLEY      _J. Cooper_     30
+
+    Through the balmy air of night
+    How they ring out their delight!
+                                  BIRKET FOSTER      _E. Evans_      32
+
+        Hear the loud alarum bells—
+
+                *       *       *       *       *
+
+    In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire.
+                                   FELIX DARLEY      _J. Cooper_     34
+
+    In the silence of the night,
+    How we shiver with affright.
+                              F. R. PICKERSGILL      _W. J. Linton_  36
+
+                   ANNABEL LEE.
+    _I_ was a child and _she_ was a child,
+      In this kingdom by the sea.
+                                  BIRKET FOSTER      _J. Cooper_     42
+
+    For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
+      Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
+                                  BIRKET FOSTER      _J. Cooper_     44
+
+                     ISRAFEL.
+    In heaven a spirit doth dwell
+      “Whose heart-strings are a lute.”
+                                       P. DUGGAN    _W. J. Linton_   48
+
+                     TO ZANTE.
+    Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,
+      Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take!
+                                   BIRKET FOSTER     _E. Evans_      53
+
+                 THE HAUNTED PALACE.
+    Once a fair and stately palace—
+      Radiant palace—reared its head.
+                                     A. M. MADOT    _E. Evans_       58
+
+                       EULALIE.
+    Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my
+          blushing bride—
+    Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my
+          smiling bride.
+                               F. R. PICKERSGILL    _W. J. Linton_   62
+
+                   TO ONE IN PARADISE.
+    Such language holds the solemn sea
+      To the sands upon the shore.
+                                   BIRKET FOSTER    _E. Evans_       65
+
+                            DREAM-LAND.
+    Shrouded forms that start and sigh
+    As they pass the wanderer by.
+                               F. R. PICKERSGILL    _W. J. Linton_   69
+
+                           THE SLEEPER.
+    At midnight, in the month of June,
+    I stand beneath the mystic moon.
+                                   BIRKET FOSTER    _E. Evans_       72
+
+                            FOR ANNIE.
+    And she prayed to the angels
+      To keep me from harm.
+                               F. R. PICKERSGILL    _W. J. Linton_   78
+
+                            ELDORADO.
+          And, as his strength
+          Failed him at length,
+    He met a pilgrim shadow.
+                               F. R. PICKERSGILL    _W. J. Linton_   83
+
+                     A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM.
+    I stand amid the roar
+    Of a surf-tormented shore.
+                                   BIRKET FOSTER    _J. Cooper_      85
+
+                         THE CITY IN THE SEA.
+    Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
+    In a strange city lying alone.
+                                  JASPER CROPSEY    _W. J. Linton_   87
+
+    The waves have now a redder glow—
+    The hours are breathing faint and low.
+                                  JASPER CROPSEY    _W. J. Linton_   89
+
+                       SCENES FROM “POLITIAN.”
+    View of Rome.               PERCIVAL SKELTON    _J. Cooper_      93
+
+                    Heard I aright?
+    I speak to him—he speaks of Lalage!
+                               F. R. PICKERSGILL    _Hammond_        97
+
+    A garden.        BIRKET FOSTER     _J. Cooper_                  102
+
+                    Think of eternal things;
+    Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray!
+                               F. R. PICKERSGILL    _E. Evans_      110
+
+                  Politian, it doth grieve me
+    To see thee thus.
+                                     A. M. MADOT    _E. Evans_      114
+
+            Listen now—listen!—the faintest sound,
+    And yet the sweetest that ear ever heard!
+    A lady’s voice!—and sorrow in the tone!
+                                     A. M. MADOT    _H. Harral_     120
+
+    Weep not! oh, sob not thus!—thy bitter tears
+    Will madden me. Oh, mourn not, Lalage!
+                                   BIRKET FOSTER    _J. Cooper_     127
+
+                  Hist! hush! within the gloom
+    Of yonder trees methought a figure passed.
+                               F. R. PICKERSGILL    _E. Evans_      132
+
+    The suburbs of Rome.        PERCIVAL SKELTON    _J. Cooper_     136
+
+                          AL AARAAF.
+    O! nothing earthly save the thrill
+    Of melody in woodland rill.
+                                   BIRKET FOSTER    _J. Cooper_     149
+
+    Of her who loved a mortal—and so died.
+                               F. R. PICKERSGILL    _W. J. Linton_  152
+
+    As sprang that yellow star from downy hours,
+    Up rose the maiden from her shrine of flowers.
+                                     A. M. MADOT    _W. Thomas_     157
+
+    High on a mountain of enamelled head—
+         . . . . . . arose a pile
+    Of gorgeous columns.
+                                PERCIVAL SKELTON    _J. Whymper_    159
+
+    On its margin is sleeping
+      Full many a maid.
+                               F. R. PICKERSGILL    _W. J. Linton_  166
+
+    Was a proud temple called the Parthenon.
+                                PERCIVAL SKELTON    _J. Cooper_     170
+
+                        TO THE RIVER.
+    For in his heart, as in thy stream,
+        Her image deeply lies.
+                                   BIRKET FOSTER    _E. Evans_      174
+
+                         TAMERLANE.
+    We grew in age—and love—together—
+      Roaming the forest, and the wild.
+                                     A. M. MADOT    _W. J. Linton_  181
+
+    We walked together on the crown
+    Of a high mountain.
+                                   BIRKET FOSTER    _J. Cooper_     185
+
+    A voice came from the threshold stone
+    Of one whom I had earlier known.
+                                     A. M. MADOT    _W. J. Linton_  189
+
+                           TO ——.
+    The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see
+      The wantonest singing birds.
+                                   BIRKET FOSTER    _E. Evans_      192
+
+                          FAIRY-LAND.
+    Dim vales—and shadowy floods—
+    And cloudy-looking woods.
+                                   BIRKET FOSTER    _J. Cooper_     198
+
+                           THE LAKE.
+    A wild lake, with black rock bound,
+    And the tall pines that towered around.
+                                   BIRKET FOSTER    _J. Cooper_     201
+
+    The Head and Tail-pieces and Initial Letters.
+                                 W. HARRY ROGERS    _E. Evans_
+
+              _Under the Superintendence of_ JOSEPH CUNDALL.
+
+
+
+
+MEMOIR OF EDGAR ALLAN POE.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It would be well for all poets if nothing more were known of their
+lives than what they themselves infuse into their poetry. Too close
+a knowledge of the weaknesses and errors of the inspired children
+of Parnassus, cannot but impair, in some degree, the delicate aroma
+of their songs. The inner life of the poet, the secrets of his
+inspiration, the mysterious processes by which his pearls of thought
+are produced, can never be made known, and the accidents of his daily
+life have but little more interest than those which fall to common men.
+Under all circumstances the poet is a mystery, and the utterances of
+his fancy are but the drapery of the veiled statue which still leaves
+the figure itself unknown. A dissection of the song-bird gives us no
+insight into the secret of his melodious notes. Some of the great
+modern poets have had their whole lives exposed with minute accuracy;
+but in what are we the wiser for the knowledge we have obtained of
+them? We only know they lived and suffered like other men, and their
+inspirations are still a cause of wonder and delight. The subtle secret
+of their power is still hidden from our search; and though we know more
+of the daily habits of the men, we know no more of the hidden power
+of the poet. But there is still a yearning to know how the men lived
+whose genius has charmed and instructed us, and a vague feeling exists,
+that in probing the lives of poets we may learn something of the art by
+which they produced their works. But it is like the useless labour of
+Reynolds, who scraped a painting by Titian to learn the secret of his
+colouring.
+
+Of all the poets whose lives have been a puzzle and a mystery to the
+world, there is no one more difficult to be understood than Edgar
+Allan Poe. It is impossible to carry in the mind a double idea of
+a man, and to believe him to be both a saint and a fiend; yet such
+is the embarrassment felt by those who have first read the poems of
+this strange being, and then read any of the biographies of him which
+pretend to anything like an accurate account of his life. Like his
+own Raven, he is, to his readers, “bird or fiend,” they know not
+which. But a close study of his works will reveal the fact, which
+may serve in some degree to remove this embarrassment, that there is
+nowhere discoverable in them a consciousness of moral responsibility.
+They are full of the subtleties of passion, of grief, despair, and
+longing, but they contain nothing that indicates a sense of moral
+rectitude. They are the productions of one whose religion was a
+worship of the Beautiful, and who knew no beauty but that which was
+purely sensuous. There were but two kinds of beauty for him, and they
+were Form and Colour. He revelled in an ideal world of perfect shows,
+and was made wretched by any imperfections of art. The Leonore whose
+loss he deplored was a being fair to the eye, a beautiful creature,
+like Undine, without a soul. With this key to the character of the
+poet, there is no difficulty in fully comprehending the strange
+inconsistencies, the basenesses and nobleness which his wayward life
+exhibited.
+
+Some of the biographers of Poe have been harshly judged for the view
+given of his character, and it has naturally been supposed that private
+pique has led to the exaggeration of his personal defects. But such
+imputations are unjust; a truthful delineation of his career would give
+a darker hue to his character than it has received from any of his
+biographers. In fact, he has been more fortunate than most poets in his
+historians. Lowell and Willis have sketched him with gentleness and a
+reverent feeling for his genius; and Griswold, his literary executor,
+in his fuller biography, has generously suppressed much that he might
+have given. This is neither the proper time nor place to write a full
+history of this unhappy genius; those who scan his marvellous poems
+closely, may find therein the man, for it is impossible for the true
+poet to veil himself from his readers. What he writes he is.
+
+The waywardness of Poe was an inheritance; though descended from a
+family of great respectability, his immediate parents were dissolute
+in their morals, and members of a profession which almost always
+begets irregularity of habits. The paternal grandfather of the poet
+was a distinguished officer in the Maryland line during the war of the
+Revolution, and his great grandfather, John Poe, married a daughter of
+Admiral McBride, of the British Navy. His father, the fourth son of
+the Revolutionary officer, was a native of Maryland, and studied for
+the bar; but becoming enamoured of a beautiful actress named Elizabeth
+Arnold, he abandoned the law and adopted the stage as a profession.
+They lived together six or seven years, wandering from theatre to
+theatre, when they both died within a very short time of each other,
+in Richmond, Virginia, leaving three children in utter destitution.
+Edgar, the second child, who was born in Baltimore in January 1811, was
+a remarkably bright and beautiful boy; and he attracted the attention
+of a wealthy merchant in Richmond, who had known his parents, and who
+had no children of his own. Mr. Allan adopted the little orphan, and
+he was afterwards called Edgar Allan. The precocious child was petted
+by his adopted parents, who took pride in his forwardness and beauty;
+he was sent to the best schools, and was regarded as the heir to their
+property. In 1816 Mr. and Mrs. Allan made a journey to Europe, and
+Edgar accompanied them. He was placed at the school of the Rev. Dr.
+Bransby, at Stoke Newington, near London, where he remained some four
+or five years; but all that we know of him during this period of his
+life, is what he has himself told us in the tale entitled “William
+Wilson,” wherein he describes with great minuteness his recollections
+of his school-days in England, and gives a characteristic picture of
+the school-house and its surroundings.
+
+On his return to the United States, in the year 1822, he was placed
+for a few months at an academy at Richmond, and then was transferred
+to the University of Virginia, at Charlottesville. The students at
+Charlottesville were noted, at that time, for their reckless and
+dissolute manner of life, and young Poe was the most dissolute and
+reckless among them. Though extremely slight in person, and almost
+effeminate in his manner, he is represented to have been foremost in
+all athletic sports and games, and there is good testimony to his
+having performed the almost impossible feat of swimming, for a wager,
+from Richmond to Warwick, a distance of seven miles, against a current
+of two or three knots an hour. Notwithstanding his dissolute habits and
+extravagance at the University, he excelled in his studies, was always
+at the head of his class, and would, doubtless, have graduated with
+honour, had he not been expelled on account of his profligacy and wild
+excesses.
+
+His allowance of money had been liberal at the University, but he
+quitted it in debt; and when his indulgent friend refused to accept his
+drafts to meet his gambling losses, Poe wrote him an abusive letter,
+and quitted the country with the design of offering his services to
+the Greeks, who were then fighting for their emancipation from the
+Turks. But he never reached Greece, and all that is known of his
+career in Europe is, that he found himself in St. Petersburgh, in
+extreme destitution, where the American Minister, Mr. Middleton, was
+called upon to save him from arrest, on account of an indiscretion;
+through the kind offices of this gentleman the young adventurer was
+sent home to America, and, on his arrival in Richmond, Mr. Allan
+received him with kindness, forgave him his past misconduct, and
+procured him a cadetship at the United States Military Academy at
+West Point. Unfortunately for him, just before he left Richmond for
+his new appointment, Mrs. Allan, the wife of his benefactor, died.
+She had always treated him with motherly affection, and he had paid
+more deference to her than to any one else. At West Point he applied
+himself with great energy and success for a while to his new course of
+studies; but the rigid discipline of that institution ill sorted with
+the irrepressible recklessness of his nature, and after ten months he
+was ignominiously expelled.
+
+After leaving “the Point” he returned to Richmond, and was again kindly
+received and welcomed to his home by Mr. Allan. But there was a change
+in the house where the wayward boy had been a pet. There was a new and
+a younger mistress. Mr. Allan had taken a second wife, a lady much
+younger than himself, and who was disposed to treat the expelled cadet
+as a son. But he soon contrived to quarrel with her, and was compelled
+to abandon the house of his adopted father, never to return. The cause
+of the quarrel which led to this final disruption between Poe and his
+generous patron has been variously stated; the family of Mr. Allan
+give a version of it which throws a dark shade on the character of the
+poet; but let it have been as it may, it must have been of a very grave
+nature, for, on the death of Mr. Allan, shortly after, in 1834, the
+name of his adopted son, who it was supposed would have inherited all
+his wealth, was not mentioned in his will.
+
+On leaving the house of his benefactor for the last time, Poe was
+left without a friend, and thrown upon his own resources. He had
+published a volume of poems in Baltimore, just after his expulsion
+from West Point, under the title of “Al Aaraaf” and “Tamerlane,” to
+which a few smaller poems were added. These were the production of
+his early years, probably between his fifteenth and sixteenth years,
+though the exact date of their production cannot be ascertained. The
+commendations bestowed upon these precocious poems encouraged him to
+devote himself to literature for a profession. But his first attempts
+to earn a living by literature must have been discouraging, for soon
+after publishing his first volume, he was driven by his necessities
+to enlist as a private soldier in the army. Here he was recognised by
+officers who had known him at West Point, and who interested themselves
+to obtain his discharge, and, if possible, a commission. But their kind
+intentions were frustrated by his desertion. The next attempt he made
+in literature proved more successful; he had fruitlessly tried to find
+a publisher for a volume of stories; but on a premium of one hundred
+dollars, for a tale in prose, and a similar reward for a poem, being
+offered by the publisher of a literary periodical in Baltimore, Poe
+obtained both prizes; though he was only allowed to retain the prize
+for the tale, as it was thought not prudent to give both prizes to the
+same writer. The tale chosen was the “Manuscript found in a Bottle,”
+a composition which contains many of his most marked peculiarities
+of style and invention. The award was made in October 1833, and,
+fortunately for the young author, there was one gentleman on the
+committee who made the decision, who had it in his power to render him
+essential service.
+
+This was John P. Kennedy, the novelist, author of “Horse Shoe
+Robinson,” and eminent as a lawyer and a statesman. To this gentleman
+Poe came on hearing of his success, poorly clad, pale, and emaciated;
+he told his story, and his ambition, and at once gained the confidence
+and affection of the more prosperous author. He was in utter want, and
+had not yet received the amount to which he was entitled for his story.
+Mr. Kennedy took him by the hand, furnished him with means to render
+him immediately comfortable, and enabled him to make a respectable
+appearance; and in a short time afterwards procured for him a situation
+as editor of the “Literary Messenger,” a monthly magazine published in
+Richmond. In his new place he continued for a while to work with great
+industry, and wrote a great number of reviews and tales; but he fell
+into his old habits, and after a debauch quarrelled with the proprietor
+of the “Messenger,” and was dismissed.
+
+It was one of the strange peculiarities of Poe to make humble and
+penitent appeals for forgiveness and reconciliation to those he had
+offended by his abuse and insolence, and he was no sooner conscious of
+his error in quarrelling with the publisher of the “Messenger” than
+he endeavoured to regain the position he had lost. He was successful;
+and though he often fell into his old habits, yet he retained his
+connexion with the work until January, 1837, when he abandoned the
+“Messenger” and left Richmond for New York. During his last residence
+in Richmond, while working for a salary of ten dollars a week, he
+married his cousin, Virginia Clemm, a young, amiable, and gentle
+girl, without fortune or friends, and as ill-calculated as himself to
+buffet the waves of an adverse fortune. In New York he wrote for the
+literary periodicals, but soon removed to Philadelphia, where he was
+employed as editor of “Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine;” he continued but
+a year in his post, and after several quarrels with the proprietor of
+the magazine, left him to establish a magazine of his own. To have a
+magazine of his own, which he could manage as he pleased, was always
+the great ambition of his life. He had invented a title, selected a
+motto, written an introduction, and made the entire plans for the great
+work, which was to be called the “Stylus;” it was the chimera which
+he nursed, the castle in the air which he longed for, the rainbow of
+his cloudy hopes. But he did not succeed in establishing it then, and
+was soon installed as editor of “Graham’s Magazine.” As a matter of
+course he quarrelled with Graham, and then went to New York, where
+he engaged as a sub-editor on the “Mirror,” a daily paper, of which
+his friend Willis was editor. But he did not remain long at this
+employment, which was wholly unsuited to him, and he left the “Mirror”
+without quarrelling with the proprietor. During his engagements with
+these different periodicals, he had written some of his finest prose
+tales, had published an anonymous work in the style of Robinson Crusoe,
+entitled the “Adventures of Arthur Gordon Pym,” and a collection of
+his tales in a volume, which he called “Tales of the Grotesque and the
+Arabesque,” and gained another prize by his story of the Gold Bug.
+He was beginning to be known as a fierce and terrible critic, rather
+than as a poet or a writer of tales, when the publication of his poem
+of the Raven in the “American Review,” a New York monthly magazine,
+first attracted the attention of the literary world to his singular
+and powerful genius. Up to the appearance of this wild fantasy, he
+had not been generally recognised as a poet, and had known nothing of
+society. But he became at once a lion, and his writings were eagerly
+sought after by publishers. The prospect lay bright before him; he
+abandoned for awhile the vices which so fearfully beset him; he was
+living quietly in a pleasant rural neighbourhood in Westchester, near
+the city, with his delicate wife and her mother, and a brilliant future
+appeared to be in store for him. But he could never keep clear from
+magazine editing, and he joined Mr. C. F. Briggs in publishing the
+“Broadway Journal,” a literary weekly periodical; but the inevitable
+quarrel ensued, and this project was abandoned at the end of a year.
+It was while editing the “Broadway Journal” that he engaged in furious
+onslaught upon Longfellow, whom he accused of plagiarising from his
+poems, and, at the same time, involved himself in numberless disputes
+and quarrels with other authors. But he also gained the affection and
+admiration of many estimable literary people, some of whom he alienated
+by appearing before them when in a state of intoxication. He delivered
+a lecture on poetry, but attracted no hearers, and he was so chagrined
+by his disappointment, that he fell again into his old habits, and
+disgusted his new friends by his gross misconduct; he involved himself
+in another quarrel with some of the literati of Boston, and to show his
+contempt for them, went there and delivered a poem in public, which
+he pretended to have written in his tenth year. On his return to New
+York he was again reduced to great straits; and in 1848 he advertised
+a series of lectures, in order to raise sufficient means to put into
+execution his long-cherished plan of a magazine; but he delivered only
+one lecture on the Cosmogony of the Universe, which was afterwards
+published under the title of “Eureka, a Prose Poem.” His wife had died
+the year previously, and during her illness he was reduced to such
+extremities that public appeals, which were generously responded to,
+were made in his behalf by the papers of New York.
+
+Not long after the death of his wife he formed an intimacy with an
+accomplished literary lady of Rhode Island, a widow, and was engaged to
+be married to her. It was to her that he addressed the poem “Annabel
+Lee;” the day was appointed for their marriage; but he had, in the
+meantime, formed other plans; and, to disentangle himself from this
+engagement, he visited the house of his affianced bride, where he
+conducted himself with such indecent violence that the aid of the
+police had to be called in to expel him. This, of course, put an end
+to the engagement. In a short time after he went to Richmond, and
+there gained the confidence and affections of a lady of good family
+and considerable fortune. The day was appointed for their marriage,
+and he left Virginia to return to New York to fulfil some literary
+arrangements previous to the consummation of this new engagement.
+He had written to his friends that he had, at last, a prospect of
+happiness. The Lost Lenore was found. He arrived in Baltimore on his
+way to the north, and gave his baggage into the charge of a porter,
+intending to leave in an hour for Philadelphia. Stepping into an hotel
+to obtain some refreshments, he met some of his former companions, who
+invited him to drink with them. In a few moments all was over with
+him. He spent the night in revelry, wandered out into the street in a
+state of insanity, and was found in the morning literally dying from
+exposure, and a single night’s excesses. He was taken to a hospital,
+and, on the 7th October, 1849, at the age of thirty-eight, he closed
+his troubled life. Three days before he had left his newly-affianced
+bride to prepare for their nuptials. He lies in a burying-ground in
+Baltimore, his native city, without a stone to mark the place of his
+last rest.
+
+In person Edgar Allan Poe was slight, and hardly of the medium height;
+his motions were quick and nervous, his air was abstracted, and his
+countenance generally serious and pale. He never laughed, and rarely
+smiled; but in conversation he was vivacious, earnest, and respectful;
+and though he appeared generally under restraint, as though guarding
+against a half-subdued passion, yet his manners were engaging, and he
+never failed to win the confidence and kind feelings of those with whom
+he conversed for the first time; and there were a few who knew him
+long and intimately who could never believe that he was ever otherwise
+than the pleasant, intelligent, respectful, and earnest companion he
+appeared to them. Though he was at times so reckless and profligate
+in his conduct, and so indifferent to external proprieties, he was
+generally scrupulously exact in everything he did. He dressed with
+extreme neatness and perfectly good taste, avoiding all ornaments and
+everything of a bizarre appearance. He was painfully alive to all
+imperfections of art; and a false rhyme, an ambiguous sentence, or
+even a typographical error, threw him into an ecstasy of passion. It
+was this sensitiveness to all artistic imperfections, rather than any
+malignity of feeling, which made his criticisms so severe, and procured
+him a host of enemies among persons towards whom he never entertained
+any personal ill-will. He criticised his own productions with the same
+severity that he exercised towards the writings of others; and all his
+poems, though he sometimes represented them as offsprings of a sudden
+inspiration, were the work of elaborate study. His handwriting was
+always neat and singularly uniform, and his manuscripts were invariably
+on long slips of paper about four inches wide, which he never folded,
+but always made into a roll. Nothing he ever did had the appearance of
+haste or slovenliness, and he preserved with religious care every scrap
+he had ever written, and every letter he ever received, so that he left
+behind him the amplest materials for the composition of his literary
+life. At his own request these remnants of his existence were entrusted
+to Doctor Griswold, a gentleman with whom he had quarrelled, and had
+lampooned in his lectures; Doctor Griswold, in a generous spirit,
+accepted the charge, and produced from the papers entrusted to him, the
+best biography of the strange being that has been published, which was
+appended to the collection of his works in four volumes issued in New
+York.
+
+_June, 1857._
+
+
+
+
+MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 mortals ever dared to dream before;
+    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness 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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
+    Soon again I heard a tapping something 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 a minute 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 marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
+    Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
+    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
+    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
+    Bird or beast 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 farther 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 that 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!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    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 and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
+    Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe 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!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+LENORE.
+
+    Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown for ever!
+    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 damnèd 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.”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+A VALENTINE.
+
+    For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
+      Brightly expressive as the twins of Lœda,
+    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 labour!
+      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.
+
+To translate the address, read the first letter of the first line in
+connexion 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. The
+name will thus appear.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 hornèd 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 grey 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 for ever
+    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.”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+TO —— ——.
+
+    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 moon-lit “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 bidden 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 unpurpled vapours, far away
+    To where the prospect terminates—_thee only_.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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. (Oh, Heaven!—oh, 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!)
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    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’ odours
+    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 enwritten
+    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!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 Pysche, 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 star-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 Pysche, 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 until 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 Sybilic splendour 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 the 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!”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    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.”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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.
+
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 the 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 tintinabulation 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!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                         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 endeavour,
+              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 besom 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 clamour and the clangour of the bells!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                          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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 Woe!
+
+    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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 high-born kinsman 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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    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 feel 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 the sepulchre there by the sea,
+        In her tomb by the sounding sea.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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
+    Uneasily, from morn till even,
+    Over the violets there that lie
+    In myriad types of the human eye—
+    Over the lilies there 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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 grown-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 fervour 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.
+
+[Footnote 1: And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and
+who has the sweetest voice of all God’s creatures.—KORAN.]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 two-fold _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!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 entombèd 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_! Accursèd ground
+      Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore,
+    O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante!
+      “Isola d’oro! Fior di Levante!”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+TO F——S S. O——D.
+
+    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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 church-yard 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 token
+      That _proves_ me happy now!
+
+    Would 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.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 wingèd odour went away.
+
+    Wanderers in that happy valley,
+      Through two luminous windows, saw
+    Spirits moving musically,
+      To a lute’s well-tunèd law,
+    Round 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 for ever
+      And laugh—but smile no more.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 vapour 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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 storms—but where meanwhile
+    Serenest skies continually
+      Just o’er that one bright island smile.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+DREAM-LAND.
+
+    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 grey 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!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+        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.
+
+
+HYMN.
+
+    At morn—at noon—at twilight dim—
+          Maria! thou hast heard my hymn!
+          In joy and woe—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!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+THE SLEEPER.
+
+    At midnight, in the month of June,
+    I stand beneath the mystic moon.
+    An opiate vapour, 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 close 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.
+
+
+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 drunk of a water
+      That quenches all thirst:—
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    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 odour
+      About it, of pansies—
+    A rosemary odour,
+      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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+        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!”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 that 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 wreathèd 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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    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.
+
+
+
+
+SCENES FROM “POLITIAN;”
+
+AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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!
+
+          ALESSANDRA.
+    Methinks thou hast a singular way of showing
+    Thy happiness!—what ails thee, cousin of mine?
+    Why didst thou sigh so deeply?
+
+          CASTIGLIONE.
+                                    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._
+
+          ALESSANDRA.
+    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.
+
+          CASTIGLIONE [_musing_].
+    Nothing, fair cousin, nothing—not even deep sorrow—
+    Wears it away like evil hours and wine.
+    I will amend.
+
+          ALESSANDRA.
+                  Do it! I would have thee drop
+    Thy riotous company, too—fellows low born—
+    Ill suit the like with old Di Broglio’s heir
+    And Alessandra’s husband.
+
+          CASTIGLIONE.
+    I will drop them.
+
+          ALESSANDRA.
+    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.
+
+          CASTIGLIONE.
+                   I’ll see to it.
+
+          ALESSANDRA.
+    Then see to it!—pay more attention, Sir,
+    To a becoming carriage—much thou wantest
+    In dignity.
+
+          CASTIGLIONE.
+                Much, much, oh much I want
+    In proper dignity.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          ALESSANDRA [_haughtily_].
+                      Thou mockest me, sir!
+
+          CASTIGLIONE [_abstractedly_].
+    Sweet, gentle Lalage!
+
+          ALESSANDRA.
+                          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?
+
+          CASTIGLIONE [_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.
+
+          ALESSANDRA.
+                          What! Politian
+    Of Britain, Earl of Leicester?
+
+          DI BROGLIO.
+                                    The same, my love.
+    We’ll have him at the wedding. A man quite young
+    In years, but grey in fame. I have not seen him,
+    But Rumour 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.
+
+          ALESSANDRA.
+    I have heard much of this Politian.
+    Gay, volatile, and giddy—is he not?
+    And little given to thinking.
+
+          DI BROGLIO.
+                                Far from it, love.
+    No branch, they say, of all philosophy
+    So deep abstruse he has not mastered it.
+    Learned as few are learned.
+
+          ALESSANDRA.
+                            ’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.
+
+          CASTIGLIONE.
+    Ridiculous! Now, _I_ have seen Politian,
+    And know him well—nor learned nor mirthful he.
+    He is a dreamer and a man shut out
+    From common passions.
+
+          DI BROGLIO.
+                          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._
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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.
+
+          LALAGE.
+    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.
+
+          JACINTA [_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_.
+
+          LALAGE.
+    “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 weep—two gentle maids
+    With gentle names—Eiros and Charmion!
+    Rainbow and Dove!——Jacinta!
+
+          JACINTA [_pettishly_].
+                             Madam, what _is_ it?
+
+          LALAGE.
+    Wilt thou, my good Jacinta, be so kind
+    As go down in the library and bring me
+    The Holy Evangelists?
+
+          JACINTA.
+                    Pshaw!
+                                       [_Exit._
+
+          LALAGE.
+                                 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_.
+
+          JACINTA.
+    There, Ma’am, ’s the book. Indeed she is very troublesome.
+                                                [_Aside._
+
+          LALAGE [_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._
+
+          JACINTA.
+                            I can’t believe
+    She has any more jewels—no—no—she gave me all.  [_Aside._
+
+          LALAGE.
+    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 farther aid
+    Thou needest, Jacinta?
+
+          JACINTA.
+                           Is there no _farther_ aid!
+    That’s meant for me. [_Aside._] I’m sure, Madam, you need not
+    Be always throwing those jewels in my teeth.
+
+          LALAGE.
+    Jewels! Jacinta,—now indeed, Jacinta,
+    I thought not of the jewels.
+
+          JACINTA.
+                                 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_.
+
+          LALAGE.
+    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!
+
+          LALAGE [_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!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          MONK.
+                Think of thy precious soul!
+
+          LALAGE.
+    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.
+
+          LALAGE.
+                                       ’Tis well.
+    There _is_ a vow were fitting should be made—
+    A sacred vow, imperative, and urgent,
+    A solemn vow!
+
+          MONK.
+               Daughter, this zeal is well!
+
+          LALAGE.
+    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!
+
+          LALAGE.
+                             ’Tis sworn!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 humours. Be thyself!
+    Shake off the idle fancies that beset thee,
+    And live, for now thou diest!
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                            Not so, Baldazzar!
+         _Surely_ I live.
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+                     Politian, it doth grieve me
+    To see thee thus.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                      Baldazzar, it doth grieve me
+    To give thee cause for grief, my honoured 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!
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+                 To the field then—to the field—
+    To the senate or the field.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                              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?
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+                                I heard it not.
+    I heard not any voice except thine own,
+    And the echo of thine own.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                         Then I but dreamed.
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+    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.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                     It _is_ a phantom voice!
+    Didst thou not hear it _then_?
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+                                I heard it not.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+    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 farther duties
+    Unto thy friend.
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+                     Thou speakest a fearful riddle;
+    I _will_ not understand.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                           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?
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+                                 Indeed I hear not.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+    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!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+                     I myself hear it now.
+    Be still!—the voice, if I mistake not greatly,
+    Proceeds from yonder 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.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                    Be still!—it comes again!
+
+              _Voice_ [_very faintly_].
+
+              “And is thy heart so strong
+               As for to leave me thus,
+               Who hath 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!”
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+    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,
+               Who hath 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!”
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+    ’Tis hushed, and all is still!
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                        All _is not_ still.
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+                               Let us go down.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                                     Go down, Baldazzar, go!
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+    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 hath loved thee so long,
+               In wealth and woe among,
+               And is thy heart so strong?
+                           Say nay—say nay!”
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+    Let us descend!—’tis time. Politian, give
+    These fancies to the wind. Remember, pray,
+    Your bearing lately savoured much of rudeness
+    Unto the Duke. Arouse thee! and remember!
+
+          POLITIAN.
+    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.”
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+                              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!”
+
+          POLITIAN [_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.
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+                          Your lordship’s pleasure
+    Shall be attended to. Good night, Politian.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+    Good night, my friend, good night.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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.
+
+          LALAGE.
+                             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 dishonoured Lalage abide?
+    Thy wife, and with a tainted memory—
+    My seared and blighted name, how would it tally
+    With the ancestral honours of thy house,
+    And with thy glory?
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                        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 unhonoured and forgotten
+    Into the dust—so we descend together.
+    Descend together—and then—and then perchance——
+
+          LALAGE.
+    Why dost thou pause, Politian?
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                               And then perchance
+    _Arise_ together, Lalage, and roam
+    The starry and quiet dwellings of the blest,
+    And still——
+
+          LALAGE.
+                Why dost thou pause, Politian?
+
+          POLITIAN.
+    And still _together—together_.
+
+          LALAGE.
+                                Now, Earl of Leicester!
+    Thou _lovest_ me, and in my heart of hearts
+    I feel thou lovest me truly.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                             Oh, Lalage!
+             [_Throwing himself upon his knee._
+    And lovest thou _me_?
+
+          LALAGE.
+                          Hist! hush! within the gloom
+    Of yonder trees methought a figure pass’d—
+    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!
+
+          POLITIAN.
+    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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          LALAGE.
+                                   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?
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                              O, 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?
+
+          LALAGE.
+                      A deed is to be done—
+    Castiglione lives!
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                      And he shall die!
+                                        [_Exit._
+
+          LALAGE [_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—O, 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—
+    O 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!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+V.
+
+_The Suburbs._ POLITIAN _alone_.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+    This weakness grows upon me. I am faint,
+    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, O pity me!
+    O 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.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                              _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?
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+    That he, Castiglione, not being aware
+    Of any feud existing, or any cause
+    Of quarrel between your lordship and himself,
+    Cannot accept the challenge.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                                 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_?
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+    No more, my Lord, than I have told you, Sir
+    The Count Castiglione will not fight,
+    Having no cause for quarrel.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                                 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.
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+    My lord!—my friend!——
+
+          POLITIAN [_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.
+
+          BALDAZZAR.
+                    I go—to-morrow we meet,
+    Do we not?—at the Vatican.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                                At the Vatican.
+                          [_Exit_ BALDAZZAR.
+
+    _Enter_ CASTIGLIONE.
+
+          CASTIGLIONE.
+    The Earl of Leicester here!
+
+          POLITIAN.
+    I _am_ the Earl of Leicester, and thou seest,
+    Dost thou not? that I am here.
+
+          CASTIGLIONE.
+                             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.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                     Draw, villain, and prate no more!
+
+          CASTIGLIONE.
+    Ha!—draw?—and villain? have at thee then at once,
+    Proud Earl!
+                                       [_Draws._
+
+          POLITIAN [_drawing_].
+                Thus to the expiatory tomb,
+    Untimely sepulchre, I do devote thee
+    In the name of Lalage!
+
+    CASTIGLIONE [_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.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+    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!
+
+          CASTIGLIONE.
+                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.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                        Now by my halidom
+    I do believe thee!—coward, I do believe thee!
+
+          CASTIGLIONE.
+    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 his 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. O pity me!
+
+          POLITIAN [_greatly softened_].
+    Alas!—I do—indeed I pity thee.
+
+          CASTIGLIONE.
+    And Lalage——
+
+          POLITIAN.
+                   _Scoundrel!—arise and die!_
+
+          CASTIGLIONE.
+    It needeth not be—thus—thus—O 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.
+
+          POLITIAN.
+              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._
+
+          CASTIGLIONE.
+                           Now this indeed is just!
+    Most righteous, and most just, avenging Heaven!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH.
+
+
+Private reasons—some of which have reference to the sin of plagiarism,
+and others to the date of Tennyson’s first poems—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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+AL AARAAF.[2]
+
+
+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—
+    Oh, 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 splendour o’er th’ unchained soul—
+    The soul that scares (the billows are so dense)
+    Can struggle to its destined eminence—
+    To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode,
+    And late to ours, the favoured one of God—
+    But, now, the ruler of an anchored 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 looked 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 opaled air in colour bound.
+
+      All hurriedly she knelt upon a bed
+    Of flowers: of lilies such as reared the head
+    On the fair Capo Deucato,[3] and sprang
+    So eagerly around about to hang
+    Upon the flying footsteps of——deep pride—
+    Of her[4] who loved a mortal—and so died.
+    The Sephalica, budding with young bees,
+    Upreared its purple stem around her knees:
+    And gemmy flower,[5] of Trebizond misnamed—
+    Inmate of highest stars, where erst it shamed
+    All other loveliness: its honied dew
+    (The fabled nectar that the heathen knew),
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    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, chastened, and more fair:
+    Nyctanthes too, as sacred as the light
+    She fears to perfume, perfuming the night:
+    And Clytia[6] pondering between many a sun,
+    While pettish tears adown her petals run:
+    And that aspiring flower[7] that sprang on Earth—
+    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[8] thither flown
+    From struggling with the waters of the Rhone:
+    And thy most lovely purple perfume,[9] Zante!
+    Isola d’oro!—Fior di Levante!
+    And the Nelumbo bud that floats for ever;
+    With Indian Cupid[10] down the holy river—
+    Fair flowers, and fairy! to whose care is given
+    To bear[11] the Goddess’ song, in odours, up to heaven:
+
+        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 dreamed for thy Infinity
+          A model[12] of their own—
+        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,[13]
+          My embassy is given,
+        Till secrecy shall knowledge be
+          In the environs of Heaven.”
+
+    She ceased—and buried then her burning cheek
+    Abashed, amid the lilies there, to seek
+    A shelter from the fervour of His eye;
+    For the stars trembled at the Deity.
+    She stirred not—breathed 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 e’en ideal things
+    Flap shadowy sounds from 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[14] cycles run,
+    Linked 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[15] in Sicilian night,
+    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!”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+      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[16] reign.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+PART II.
+
+    High on a mountain of enamelled 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 muttered “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 danced with the fair stranger light—
+    Upreared upon such height arose a pile
+    Of gorgeous columns on th’ unburthened 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[17] their pavement, such as fall
+    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,
+    Looked out above into the purple air,
+    And rays from God shot down that meteor chain
+    And hallowed all the beauty twice again,
+    Save when, between th’ Empyrean and that ring,
+    Some eager spirit flapped his dusky wing.
+    But on the pillars seraph eyes have seen
+    The dimness of this world: that greyish green
+    That Nature loves the best for Beauty’s grave
+    Lurked in each cornice, round each architrave—
+    And every sculptured cherub thereabout,
+    That from his marble dwelling peerèd out,
+    Seemed earthly in the shadow of his niche—
+    Achaian statues in a world so rich?
+    Friezes from Tadmor and Persepolis[18]—
+    From Balbec, and the stilly, clear abyss
+    Of beautiful Gomorrah! O, the wave[19]
+    Is now upon thee—but too late to save!
+
+      Sound loves to revel in a summer night:
+    Witness the murmur of the grey twilight
+    That stole upon the ear, in Eyraco,[20]
+    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?[21]
+
+      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;
+    And zone that clung around her gentle waist
+      Had burst beneath the heaving of her heart.
+    Within the centre of that hall to breathe
+    She paused and panted, Zanthe! all beneath,
+    The fairy light that kissed her golden hair
+    And longed to rest, yet could but sparkle there!
+
+      Young flowers were whispering in melody[22]
+    To happy flowers that night—and tree to tree;
+    Fountains were gushing music as they fell
+    In many a star-lit grove, or moon-lit 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[23]—
+        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
+          Encumbered 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 lulled 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,
+        Oh! is it thy will
+          On the breezes to toss?
+        Or, capriciously still,
+          Like the lone Albatross,[24]
+        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[25]
+          From the growing of grass
+        Are the music of things—
+          But are modelled, alas!—
+        Away, then, my dearest,
+          Oh! 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[26]—
+        Arouse them, my maiden,
+          On moorland and lea—
+        Go! breathe on their slumber,
+          All softly in ear,
+        The musical number
+          They slumbered 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 lulled him to rest?”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+        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—e’en 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![27]
+        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.”[28]
+
+            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 woe)
+            Upon a mountain crag, young Angelo—
+            Beetling it bends athwart the solemn sky,
+            And scowls on starry worlds that down beneath it lie.
+            Here sat he with his love—his dark eye bent
+            With eagle gaze along the firmament:
+            Now turned 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 sat, 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 slumber’d—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.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+            “The last spot of Earth’s orb I trod upon
+            Was a proud temple called the Parthenon[29]—
+            More beauty clung around her column’d wall
+            Than e’en thy glowing bosom beats withal;”[30]
+            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 pennon’d spirit leapt aloft,[31]
+            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 Dædalion 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 grey Time unfurled
+            Never his fairy wing o’er fairier 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.
+
+
+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?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+TAMERLANE.
+
+                    I.
+    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—Oh 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.
+
+                    II.
+    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.
+
+                  III.
+    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.
+
+                    IV.
+    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.
+
+                    V.
+    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!
+
+                   VI.
+    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.
+
+                   VII.
+    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.
+
+                   VIII.
+    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.
+
+                   IX.
+    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?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                    X.
+    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.
+
+                    XI.
+    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!
+
+                   XII.
+    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.
+
+                  XIII.
+    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 vapour 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.
+
+                   XIV.
+    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.
+
+                   XV.
+    I spoke to her of power and pride,
+      But mystically—is 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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                   XVI.
+    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.
+
+                  XVII.
+    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!
+
+                 XVIII.
+    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.
+
+                  XIX.
+    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.
+
+                   XX.
+    What tho’ the moon—the white moon
+    Shed all the splendour 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.
+
+                   XXI.
+    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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                   XXII.
+    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 trelliced rays from Heaven
+    No mote may shun—no tiniest fly—
+    The lightning 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?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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?
+
+
+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
+    Through 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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+FAIRY-LAND.
+
+    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—
+    For ever changing places—
+    And they put out the starlight
+    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 things!)
+    Have brought a specimen
+    Upon their quivering wings.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+THE LAKE.
+
+TO ——.
+
+    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 that 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.
+
+
+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.
+
+
+TO M. L. S——.
+
+    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 the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled
+    In the 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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+TO HELEN.
+
+    Helen, thy beauty is to me
+      Like those Nicéan barks of yore
+    That gently, o’er a perfumed sea,
+      The weary way-worn 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,
+    And 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!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+NOTES TO AL AARAAF.
+
+
+
+
+NOTES.
+
+
+[Footnote 2: page 149. _Al Aaraaf._
+
+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 3: P. 151. _On the fair Capo Deucato._
+
+On Santa Maura—olim Deucadia.]
+
+[Footnote 4: P. 151. _Of her who loved a mortal—and so died._}—Sappho.]
+
+[Footnote 5: P. 152. _And gemmy flower, of Trebizond misnamed._
+
+This flower is much noticed by Leuwenhoek and Tournefort. The bee,
+feeding upon its blossom, becomes intoxicated.]
+
+[Footnote 6: P. 153. _And Clytia pondering between many a sun._
+
+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 7: P. 153. _And that aspiring flower that sprang on Earth._
+
+There is cultivated in the king’s garden at Paris, a species of
+serpentine aloes without prickles, whose large and beautiful flower
+exhales a strong odour 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 8: P. 153. _And Valisnerian lotus thither flown._
+
+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 9: P. 153. _And thy most lovely purple perfume, Zante!_}—The
+Hyacinth.]
+
+[Footnote 10: P. 154.
+
+    _And the Nelumbo bud that floats for ever;
+     With Indian Cupid down the holy river._
+
+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 11: P. 154. _To bear the Goddess’ song, in odours, up to
+heaven._
+
+And golden vials full of odours which are the prayers of the
+saints.—_Rev. St. John._]
+
+[Footnote 12: P. 155. _A model of their own._
+
+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 præsides nemorum Deæ, &c.
+    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,” &c.]
+
+[Footnote 13: P. 155. _By winged Fantasy._
+
+    Seltsamen Tochter Jovis
+    Seinem Schosskinde
+    Der Phantasie.—_Göthe._]
+
+[Footnote 14: P. 156. _What tho’ in worlds which sightless cycles run._
+
+Sightless—too small to be seen.—_Legge._]
+
+[Footnote 15: P. 156. _Apart—like fire-flies in Sicilian night._
+
+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 16: P. 158. _Her way—but left not yet her Therasæan reign._
+
+Therassea, or Therasea, the island mentioned by Seneca, which, in a
+moment, arose from the sea to the eyes of astonished mariners.]
+
+[Footnote 17: P. 160.
+
+    _Of molten stars their pavement, such as fall
+    Thro’ the ebon air._
+
+    Some star which, from the ruin’d roof
+    Of shaked Olympus, by mischance, did fall.—_Milton._]
+
+[Footnote 18: P. 161. _Friezes from Tadmor and Persepolis._
+
+Voltaire, in speaking of Persepolis, says, “Je connois bien
+l’admiration qu’inspirent ces ruines—mais un palais érigé au pied d’une
+chaine des rochers sterils—peut-il être un chef-d’œuvre des arts?”]
+
+[Footnote 19: P. 161. _Of beautiful Gomorrah! O, the wave._
+
+“Oh! the wave”—Ula Deguisi is the Turkish appellation; but, on its own
+shores, it is called Bahar Loth, or Almotanah. There were undoubtedly
+more than two cities engulfed 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 (engulfed)—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, &c. are seen above the surface. At _any_
+season, such remains may be discovered by looking down into the
+transparent lake, and at such distances as would argue the existence of
+many settlements in the space now usurped by the “Asphaltites.”]
+
+[Footnote 20: P. 161. _That stole upon the ear, in
+Eyraco._}—Eyraco—Chaldæa.]
+
+[Footnote 21: P. 161. _Is not its form—its voice—most palpable and
+loud?_
+
+I have often thought I could distinctly hear the sound of the darkness
+as it stole over the horizon.]
+
+[Footnote 22: P. 162. _Young flowers were whispering in melody._
+
+Fairies use flowers for their charactery.—_Merry Wives of Windsor._]
+
+[Footnote 23: P. 163. _The moonbeam away._
+
+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 circumstance the passage
+evidently alludes.]
+
+[Footnote 24: P. 164. _Like the lone Albatross._
+
+The Albatross is said to sleep on the wing.]
+
+[Footnote 25: PP. 165. _The murmur that springs._
+
+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 26: P. 165. _Have slept with the bee._
+
+The wild bee will not sleep in the shade if there be moonlight.
+
+The rhyme in this 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 beguiled, &c.]
+
+[Footnote 27: P. 168. _Apart from Heaven’s Eternity—and yet how far
+from Hell!_
+
+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 28: P. 168. _Unguided Love hath fallen—’mid “tears of perfect
+moan.”_
+
+    There be tears of perfect moan
+    Wept for thee in Helicon.—_Milton._]
+
+[Footnote 29: P. 169. _Was a proud temple called the Parthenon._
+
+It was entire in 1687—the most elevated spot in Athens.]
+
+[Footnote 30: P. 170. _Than e’en thy glowing bosom beats withal._
+
+    Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows
+    Than have the white breasts of the Queen of Love.—_Marlowe._]
+
+[Footnote 31: P. 171. _Failed, as my pennoned spirit leapt aloft._
+
+Pennon—for pinion.—_Milton._]
+
+
+
+
+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 pre-judgment 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, _cœteris 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 Pollok
+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 that
+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 odours 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:
+    Oh! 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 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 Honour charm’d the air;
+    And all astir look’d kind on her,
+      And call’d 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 her heart was cold to all but gold,
+      And the rich came not to woo—
+    But honour’d well are 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
+      For 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 differences
+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 odours, 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 colours, and odours, 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 odours, and colours, 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 Abbaté 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 for ever, 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 recognise 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 Mr. 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 endeavour;
+      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 labour,
+      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 quartrain 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 wax-works.
+
+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. Boccalini, 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 as 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 than 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 dishonour,
+    Death has left on her
+    Only the beautiful.
+
+    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.
+
+    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!
+
+    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 behaviour,
+    And leaving, with meekness,
+    Her sins to her Saviour!
+
+The vigour 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 the
+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-awakened 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
+endeavoured 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 Dionæn 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 the true Poetry is, by mere reference to a few of the simple
+elements which induce in the Poet himself the true poetical effect. He
+recognises 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 odour 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
+endurances—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 sympathise
+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.
+
+    Then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants, all!
+      And don your helmes amaine:
+    Deathe’s couriers, Fame and Honour, call
+      Us to the field againe.
+    No shrewish teares shall fill our eyes
+      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!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                  LONDON:—PRINTED BY RICHARD CLAY,
+                          BREAD STREET HILL
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79019 ***
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79019 ***</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<h1><span class="fs_80">THE POETICAL WORKS<br>OF</span><br>EDGAR ALLAN POE</h1>
+
+<p class="center spb2">WITH ORIGINAL MEMOIR.</p>
+
+<p class="f80 spb2">ILLUSTRATED BY F. R. PICKERSGILL, R.A.<br>
+JOHN TENNIEL, BIRKET FOSTER, FELIX DARLEY, JASPER CROPSEY,<br>
+P. DUGGAN, PERCIVAL SKELTON, AND A. M. MADOT.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="" width="150" height="145" >
+</div>
+
+<p class="center">LONDON:<br>SAMPSON LOW, SON &amp; CO.<br> 47, LUDGATE HILL.<br>
+MDCCCLVIII.</p>
+
+<p class="center">LONDON:<br>PRINTED BY RICHARD CLAY,<br>BREAD STREET HILL.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+  <h2 class="nobreak">PREFACE.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p class="author">E. A. P.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="f150"><b>CONTENTS.</b></p>
+<hr class="r10">
+</div>
+
+<table class="spb1 spa2">
+   <tbody><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_110" colspan="2">MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:—</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc">&nbsp;</td>
+      <td class="tdr fs_80">PAGE</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">The Raven</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_1">&nbsp; 1</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Lenore</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_9">&nbsp; 9</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">A Valentine</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">The Coliseum</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">To &nbsp;—— &nbsp;——</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#TO__">15</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">To Helen</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">An Enigma</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Ulalume</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">To &nbsp;——</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#TO____">28</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">To my Mother</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">The Bells</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">The Conqueror Worm</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Annabel Lee</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">The Valley of Unrest</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Israfel</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Silence</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">To Zante</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">To F——s S. O——d</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Bridal Ballad</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">The Haunted Palace</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Eulalie</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">To F——</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">To One in Paradise</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Dream-land</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Hymn</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">The Sleeper</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">For Annie</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Eldorado</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">A Dream within a Dream</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">The City in the Sea</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Scenes from “Politian;” an unpublished Drama</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_110" colspan="2">&nbsp;<br>POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH:—</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Al Aaraaf</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Sonnet—To Science</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">To the River ——</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Tamerlane</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">To &nbsp;——</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">A Dream</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Romance</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Fairy-Land</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">The Lake. &nbsp;—— To &nbsp;——</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">Song</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">To M. L. S.</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">To Helen</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 smcap">&nbsp;<br>Notes to Al Aaraaf</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_110">&nbsp;<br>THE POETIC PRINCIPLE</td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td>
+   </tr>
+ </tbody>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_009.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="113" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="f150"><b>ILLUSTRATIONS.</b></p>
+</div>
+
+<table class="spb1">
+   <tbody><tr>
+      <td class="tdc">&nbsp;</td>
+      <td class="tdc fs_80">ARTIST.</td>
+      <td class="tdc fs_80">ENGRAVER. &nbsp;</td>
+      <td class="tdr fs_80">PAGE</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Portrait of Edgar Allan Poe.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Daguerreotype &nbsp;</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#PORTRAIT">xvii</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>THE RAVEN.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">John Tenniel</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#RAVEN_1">&nbsp;1</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">John Tenniel</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#RAVEN_2">&nbsp;3</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!”</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">John Tenniel</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#RAVEN_3">&nbsp;6</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">John Tenniel</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#RAVEN_4">&nbsp;8</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>LENORE.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">The life upon her yellow hair, but not within her eyes—</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">The life still there, upon her hair—the death upon her eyes.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">F. R. Pickersgill</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#LENORE_1">&nbsp;9</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>The sweet Lenore hath “gone before,” with Hope, that flew beside,</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Felix Darley</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#LENORE_2">11</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>THE COLISEUM.
+             <span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</span></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">But stay! these walls—these ivy-clad arcades—</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">These mouldering plinths—these sad and blackened shafts.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Jasper Cropsey</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#COLISEUM">13</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>TO HELEN.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">It was a July midnight; and from out</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">A full-orbed moon, ...</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">There fell a silvery-silken veil of light.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. T. Green</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#HELEN_1">17</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>Clad all in white, upon a violet bank</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">I saw thee half reclining.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">F. R. Pickersgill</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#HELEN_2">19</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Didst glide away.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#HELEN_3">21</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>ULALUME.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Jasper Cropsey</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#ULALUME_1">23</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>That I brought a dread burden down here—</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">On this night of all nights in the year.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">F. R. Pickersgill</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#ULALUME_2">27</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>THE BELLS.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">Hear the sledges with the bells—</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Silver bells!</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Felix Darley</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#BELLS_1">30</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>Through the balmy air of night</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">How they ring out their delight!</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>E. Evans</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#BELLS_2">32</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>Hear the loud alarum bells—</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1" colspan="4">.&nbsp;&emsp;.&nbsp;&emsp;.&nbsp;&emsp;.&nbsp;&emsp;.&nbsp;&emsp;.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Felix Darley</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#BELLS_3">34</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>In the silence of the night,</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">How we shiver with affright.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">F. R. Pickersgill</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#BELLS_4">36</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>ANNABEL LEE.
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</span></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4"><i>I</i> was a child and <i>she</i> was a child,</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">In this kingdom by the sea.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#ANNABEL_1">42</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#ANNABEL_2">44</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>ISRAFEL.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">In heaven a spirit doth dwell</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">“Whose heart-strings are a lute.”</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">P. Duggan</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#ISRAFEL">48</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>TO ZANTE.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take!</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>E. Evans</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#ZANTE">53</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>THE HAUNTED PALACE.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">Once a fair and stately palace—</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Radiant palace—reared its head.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">A. M. Madot</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>E. Evans</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#HAUNTED">58</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>EULALIE.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride—</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">F. R. Pickersgill</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#EULALIE">62</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>TO ONE IN PARADISE.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">Such language holds the solemn sea</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">To the sands upon the shore.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>E. Evans</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#PARADISE">65</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>DREAM-LAND.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">Shrouded forms that start and sigh</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">As they pass the wanderer by.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">F. R. Pickersgill</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#DREAM">69</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>THE SLEEPER.
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</span></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">At midnight, in the month of June,</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">I stand beneath the mystic moon.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>E. Evans</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#SLEEPER">72</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>FOR ANNIE.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">And she prayed to the angels</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">To keep me from harm.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">F. R. Pickersgill</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#ANNIE">78</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>ELDORADO.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">And, as his strength</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">Failed him at length,</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">He met a pilgrim shadow.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">F. R. Pickersgill</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#ELDORADO">83</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">I stand amid the roar</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Of a surf-tormented shore.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#DREAM_2">85</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>THE CITY IN THE SEA.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">Lo! Death has reared himself a throne</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">In a strange city lying alone.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Jasper Cropsey</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#CITY_1">87</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>The waves have now a redder glow—</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">The hours are breathing faint and low.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Jasper Cropsey</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#CITY_2">89</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>SCENES FROM “POLITIAN.”</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">View of Rome.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Percival Skelton</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#POLITIAN_1">93</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br><span class="ws8">Heard I aright?</span></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">I speak to him—he speaks of Lalage!</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">F. R. Pickersgill</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>Hammond</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#POLITIAN_2">97</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">&nbsp;<br>A garden.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#POLITIAN_3">102</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl" colspan="4"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</span></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br><span class="ws7">Think of eternal things;</span></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray!</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">F. R. Pickersgill</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>E. Evans</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#POLITIAN_4">110</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br><span class="ws3">Politian, it doth grieve me</span></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">To see thee thus.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">A. M. Madot</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>E. Evans</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#POLITIAN_5">114</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>&nbsp;&emsp;Listen now—listen!—the faintest sound,</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">And yet the sweetest that ear ever heard!</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">A lady’s voice!—and sorrow in the tone!</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">A. M. Madot</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>H. Harral</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#POLITIAN_6">120</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>Weep not! oh, sob not thus!—thy bitter tears</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Will madden me.&emsp;Oh, mourn not, Lalage!</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#POLITIAN_7">127</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br><span class="ws4">Hist! hush! within the gloom</span></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Of yonder trees methought a figure passed.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">F. R. Pickersgill</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>E. Evans</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#POLITIAN_8">132</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">&nbsp;<br>The suburbs of Rome.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Percival Skelton</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#POLITIAN_9">136</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>AL AARAAF.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">O! nothing earthly save the thrill</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Of melody in woodland rill.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#AL_AARAAF_1">149</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">&nbsp;<br>Of her who loved a mortal—and so died.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">F. R. Pickersgill</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#AL_AARAAF_2">152</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>As sprang that yellow star from downy hours,</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Up rose the maiden from her shrine of flowers.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">A. M. Madot</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. Thomas</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#AL_AARAAF_3">157</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>High on a mountain of enamelled head—</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws1 fs_80" colspan="4">.&nbsp;&emsp;.&nbsp;&emsp;.&nbsp;&emsp;.&nbsp;&emsp;.&nbsp;&emsp;. arose a pile</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Of gorgeous columns.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Percival Skelton</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Whymper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#AL_AARAAF_4">159</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>On its margin is sleeping</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws2 fs_80">Full many a maid.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">F. R. Pickersgill</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#AL_AARAAF_5">166</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">&nbsp;<br>Was a proud temple called the Parthenon.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Percival Skelton</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#AL_AARAAF_6">170</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>TO THE RIVER.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">For in his heart, as in thy stream,</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws2 fs_80">Her image deeply lies.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>E. Evans</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#RIVER">174</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+       <td class="tdl" colspan="4"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</span></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>TAMERLANE.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">We grew in age—and love—together—</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws2 fs_80">Roaming the forest, and the wild.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">A. M. Madot</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#TAMERLANE_1">181</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>We walked together on the crown</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Of a high mountain.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#TAMERLANE_2">185</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>A voice came from the threshold stone</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">Of one whom I had earlier known.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">A. M. Madot</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>W. J. Linton</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#TAMERLANE_3">189</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>TO ——.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl_ws2 fs_80">The wantonest singing birds.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>E. Evans</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#TO_3">192</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>FAIRY-LAND.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">Dim vales—and shadowy floods—</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">And cloudy-looking woods.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#FAIRY">198</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br>THE LAKE.</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80" colspan="4">A wild lake, with black rock bound,</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">And the tall pines that towered around.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">Birket Foster</td>
+      <td class="tdl"><i>J. Cooper</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp"><a href="#LAKE">201</a></td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdl fs_80">&nbsp;<br>The Head and Tail-pieces and Initial Letters.</td>
+      <td class="tdl smcap">&nbsp;<br>W. Harry Rogers &nbsp;</td>
+      <td class="tdl">&nbsp;<br><i>E. Evans</i></td>
+      <td class="tdr_wsp">&nbsp;</td>
+   </tr><tr>
+      <td class="tdc" colspan="4">&nbsp;<br><i>Under the Superintendence of</i> <span class="smcap">Joseph Cundall</span>.
+             <span class="pagenum" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</span></td>
+   </tr>
+ </tbody>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak">MEMOIR OF<br> EDGAR ALLAN POE.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="PORTRAIT" src="images/portrait.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="452" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</span></p>
+<p>It would be well for all poets if nothing more were known of their
+lives than what they themselves infuse into their poetry. Too close
+a knowledge of the weaknesses and errors of the inspired children
+of Parnassus, cannot but impair, in some degree, the delicate aroma
+of their songs. The inner life of the poet, the secrets of his
+inspiration, the mysterious processes by which his pearls of thought
+are produced, can never be made known, and the accidents of his daily
+life have but little more interest than those which fall to common men.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</span>
+Under all circumstances the poet is a mystery, and the utterances of
+his fancy are but the drapery of the veiled statue which still leaves
+the figure itself unknown. A dissection of the song-bird gives us no
+insight into the secret of his melodious notes. Some of the great
+modern poets have had their whole lives exposed with minute accuracy;
+but in what are we the wiser for the knowledge we have obtained of
+them? We only know they lived and suffered like other men, and their
+inspirations are still a cause of wonder and delight. The subtle secret
+of their power is still hidden from our search; and though we know more
+of the daily habits of the men, we know no more of the hidden power
+of the poet. But there is still a yearning to know how the men lived
+whose genius has charmed and instructed us, and a vague feeling exists,
+that in probing the lives of poets we may learn something of the art by
+which they produced their works. But it is like the useless labour of
+Reynolds, who scraped a painting by Titian to learn the secret of his
+colouring.</p>
+
+<p>Of all the poets whose lives have been a puzzle and a mystery to the
+world, there is no one more difficult to be understood than Edgar
+Allan Poe. It is impossible to carry in the mind a double idea of
+a man, and to believe him to be both a saint and a fiend; yet such
+is the embarrassment felt by those who have first read the poems of
+this strange being, and then read any of the biographies of him which
+pretend to anything like an accurate account of his life. Like his own
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</span>
+Raven, he is, to his readers, “bird or fiend,” they know not which.
+But a close study of his works will reveal the fact, which may serve
+in some degree to remove this embarrassment, that there is nowhere
+discoverable in them a consciousness of moral responsibility. They are
+full of the subtleties of passion, of grief, despair, and longing,
+but they contain nothing that indicates a sense of moral rectitude.
+They are the productions of one whose religion was a worship of
+the Beautiful, and who knew no beauty but that which was purely
+sensuous. There were but two kinds of beauty for him, and they were
+Form and Colour. He revelled in an ideal world of perfect shows, and
+was made wretched by any imperfections of art. The Leonore whose
+loss he deplored was a being fair to the eye, a beautiful creature,
+like Undine, without a soul. With this key to the character of the
+poet, there is no difficulty in fully comprehending the strange
+inconsistencies, the basenesses and nobleness which his wayward life
+exhibited.</p>
+
+<p>Some of the biographers of Poe have been harshly judged for the view
+given of his character, and it has naturally been supposed that private
+pique has led to the exaggeration of his personal defects. But such
+imputations are unjust; a truthful delineation of his career would give
+a darker hue to his character than it has received from any of his
+biographers. In fact, he has been more fortunate than most poets in his
+historians. Lowell and Willis have sketched him with gentleness and a
+reverent feeling for his genius; and Griswold, his literary executor,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xx">[Pg xx]</span>
+in his fuller biography, has generously suppressed much that he might
+have given. This is neither the proper time nor place to write a full
+history of this unhappy genius; those who scan his marvellous poems
+closely, may find therein the man, for it is impossible for the true
+poet to veil himself from his readers. What he writes he is.</p>
+
+<p>The waywardness of Poe was an inheritance; though descended from a
+family of great respectability, his immediate parents were dissolute
+in their morals, and members of a profession which almost always
+begets irregularity of habits. The paternal grandfather of the poet
+was a distinguished officer in the Maryland line during the war of the
+Revolution, and his great grandfather, John Poe, married a daughter of
+Admiral McBride, of the British Navy. His father, the fourth son of
+the Revolutionary officer, was a native of Maryland, and studied for
+the bar; but becoming enamoured of a beautiful actress named Elizabeth
+Arnold, he abandoned the law and adopted the stage as a profession.
+They lived together six or seven years, wandering from theatre to
+theatre, when they both died within a very short time of each other, in
+Richmond, Virginia, leaving three children in utter destitution. Edgar,
+the second child, who was born in Baltimore in January 1811, was a
+remarkably bright and beautiful boy; and he attracted the attention of
+a wealthy merchant in Richmond, who had known his parents, and who had
+no children of his own. Mr. Allan adopted the little orphan, and he was
+afterwards called Edgar Allan. The precocious child was petted by his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxi">[Pg xxi]</span>
+adopted parents, who took pride in his forwardness and beauty; he
+was sent to the best schools, and was regarded as the heir to their
+property. In 1816 Mr. and Mrs. Allan made a journey to Europe, and
+Edgar accompanied them. He was placed at the school of the Rev. Dr.
+Bransby, at Stoke Newington, near London, where he remained some four
+or five years; but all that we know of him during this period of his
+life, is what he has himself told us in the tale entitled “William
+Wilson,” wherein he describes with great minuteness his recollections
+of his school-days in England, and gives a characteristic picture of
+the school-house and its surroundings.</p>
+
+<p>On his return to the United States, in the year 1822, he was placed
+for a few months at an academy at Richmond, and then was transferred
+to the University of Virginia, at Charlottesville. The students at
+Charlottesville were noted, at that time, for their reckless and
+dissolute manner of life, and young Poe was the most dissolute and
+reckless among them. Though extremely slight in person, and almost
+effeminate in his manner, he is represented to have been foremost in
+all athletic sports and games, and there is good testimony to his
+having performed the almost impossible feat of swimming, for a wager,
+from Richmond to Warwick, a distance of seven miles, against a current
+of two or three knots an hour. Notwithstanding his dissolute habits and
+extravagance at the University, he excelled in his studies, was always
+at the head of his class, and would, doubtless, have graduated with honour,
+had he not been expelled on account of his profligacy and wild excesses.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxii">[Pg xxii]</span></p>
+
+<p>His allowance of money had been liberal at the University, but he
+quitted it in debt; and when his indulgent friend refused to accept his
+drafts to meet his gambling losses, Poe wrote him an abusive letter,
+and quitted the country with the design of offering his services to
+the Greeks, who were then fighting for their emancipation from the
+Turks. But he never reached Greece, and all that is known of his
+career in Europe is, that he found himself in St. Petersburgh, in
+extreme destitution, where the American Minister, Mr. Middleton, was
+called upon to save him from arrest, on account of an indiscretion;
+through the kind offices of this gentleman the young adventurer was
+sent home to America, and, on his arrival in Richmond, Mr. Allan
+received him with kindness, forgave him his past misconduct, and
+procured him a cadetship at the United States Military Academy at
+West Point. Unfortunately for him, just before he left Richmond for
+his new appointment, Mrs. Allan, the wife of his benefactor, died.
+She had always treated him with motherly affection, and he had paid
+more deference to her than to any one else. At West Point he applied
+himself with great energy and success for a while to his new course of
+studies; but the rigid discipline of that institution ill sorted with
+the irrepressible recklessness of his nature, and after ten months he
+was ignominiously expelled.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxiii">[Pg xxiii]</span></p>
+
+<p>After leaving “the Point” he returned to Richmond, and was again kindly
+received and welcomed to his home by Mr. Allan. But there was a change
+in the house where the wayward boy had been a pet. There was a new and
+a younger mistress. Mr. Allan had taken a second wife, a lady much
+younger than himself, and who was disposed to treat the expelled cadet
+as a son. But he soon contrived to quarrel with her, and was compelled
+to abandon the house of his adopted father, never to return. The cause
+of the quarrel which led to this final disruption between Poe and his
+generous patron has been variously stated; the family of Mr. Allan
+give a version of it which throws a dark shade on the character of the
+poet; but let it have been as it may, it must have been of a very grave
+nature, for, on the death of Mr. Allan, shortly after, in 1834, the
+name of his adopted son, who it was supposed would have inherited all
+his wealth, was not mentioned in his will.</p>
+
+<p>On leaving the house of his benefactor for the last time, Poe was left
+without a friend, and thrown upon his own resources. He had published
+a volume of poems in Baltimore, just after his expulsion from West
+Point, under the title of “Al Aaraaf” and “Tamerlane,” to which a few
+smaller poems were added. These were the production of his early years,
+probably between his fifteenth and sixteenth years, though the exact
+date of their production cannot be ascertained. The commendations
+bestowed upon these precocious poems encouraged him to devote himself
+to literature for a profession. But his first attempts to earn a living
+by literature must have been discouraging, for soon after publishing his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxiv">[Pg xxiv]</span>
+first volume, he was driven by his necessities to enlist as a private
+soldier in the army. Here he was recognised by officers who had
+known him at West Point, and who interested themselves to obtain his
+discharge, and, if possible, a commission. But their kind intentions
+were frustrated by his desertion. The next attempt he made in
+literature proved more successful; he had fruitlessly tried to find
+a publisher for a volume of stories; but on a premium of one hundred
+dollars, for a tale in prose, and a similar reward for a poem, being
+offered by the publisher of a literary periodical in Baltimore, Poe
+obtained both prizes; though he was only allowed to retain the prize
+for the tale, as it was thought not prudent to give both prizes to the
+same writer. The tale chosen was the “Manuscript found in a Bottle,”
+a composition which contains many of his most marked peculiarities
+of style and invention. The award was made in October 1833, and,
+fortunately for the young author, there was one gentleman on the
+committee who made the decision, who had it in his power to render him
+essential service.</p>
+
+<p>This was John P. Kennedy, the novelist, author of “Horse Shoe
+Robinson,” and eminent as a lawyer and a statesman. To this gentleman
+Poe came on hearing of his success, poorly clad, pale, and emaciated;
+he told his story, and his ambition, and at once gained the confidence
+and affection of the more prosperous author. He was in utter want, and
+had not yet received the amount to which he was entitled for his story.
+Mr. Kennedy took him by the hand, furnished him with means to render
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxv">[Pg xxv]</span>
+him immediately comfortable, and enabled him to make a respectable
+appearance; and in a short time afterwards procured for him a situation
+as editor of the “Literary Messenger,” a monthly magazine published in
+Richmond. In his new place he continued for a while to work with great
+industry, and wrote a great number of reviews and tales; but he fell
+into his old habits, and after a debauch quarrelled with the proprietor
+of the “Messenger,” and was dismissed.</p>
+
+<p>It was one of the strange peculiarities of Poe to make humble and
+penitent appeals for forgiveness and reconciliation to those he had
+offended by his abuse and insolence, and he was no sooner conscious of
+his error in quarrelling with the publisher of the “Messenger” than
+he endeavoured to regain the position he had lost. He was successful;
+and though he often fell into his old habits, yet he retained his
+connexion with the work until January, 1837, when he abandoned the
+“Messenger” and left Richmond for New York. During his last residence
+in Richmond, while working for a salary of ten dollars a week, he
+married his cousin, Virginia Clemm, a young, amiable, and gentle
+girl, without fortune or friends, and as ill-calculated as himself to
+buffet the waves of an adverse fortune. In New York he wrote for the
+literary periodicals, but soon removed to Philadelphia, where he was
+employed as editor of “Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine;” he continued but
+a year in his post, and after several quarrels with the proprietor of
+the magazine, left him to establish a magazine of his own. To have a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxvi">[Pg xxvi]</span>
+magazine of his own, which he could manage as he pleased, was always
+the great ambition of his life. He had invented a title, selected a
+motto, written an introduction, and made the entire plans for the great
+work, which was to be called the “Stylus;” it was the chimera which
+he nursed, the castle in the air which he longed for, the rainbow of
+his cloudy hopes. But he did not succeed in establishing it then, and
+was soon installed as editor of “Graham’s Magazine.” As a matter of
+course he quarrelled with Graham, and then went to New York, where
+he engaged as a sub-editor on the “Mirror,” a daily paper, of which
+his friend Willis was editor. But he did not remain long at this
+employment, which was wholly unsuited to him, and he left the “Mirror”
+without quarrelling with the proprietor. During his engagements with
+these different periodicals, he had written some of his finest prose
+tales, had published an anonymous work in the style of Robinson Crusoe,
+entitled the “Adventures of Arthur Gordon Pym,” and a collection of
+his tales in a volume, which he called “Tales of the Grotesque and the
+Arabesque,” and gained another prize by his story of the Gold Bug.
+He was beginning to be known as a fierce and terrible critic, rather
+than as a poet or a writer of tales, when the publication of his poem
+of the Raven in the “American Review,” a New York monthly magazine,
+first attracted the attention of the literary world to his singular and
+powerful genius. Up to the appearance of this wild fantasy, he had not
+been generally recognised as a poet, and had known nothing of society.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxvii">[Pg xxvii]</span>
+But he became at once a lion, and his writings were eagerly sought
+after by publishers. The prospect lay bright before him; he abandoned
+for awhile the vices which so fearfully beset him; he was living
+quietly in a pleasant rural neighbourhood in Westchester, near the
+city, with his delicate wife and her mother, and a brilliant future
+appeared to be in store for him. But he could never keep clear from
+magazine editing, and he joined Mr. C. F. Briggs in publishing the
+“Broadway Journal,” a literary weekly periodical; but the inevitable
+quarrel ensued, and this project was abandoned at the end of a year.
+It was while editing the “Broadway Journal” that he engaged in furious
+onslaught upon Longfellow, whom he accused of plagiarising from his
+poems, and, at the same time, involved himself in numberless disputes
+and quarrels with other authors. But he also gained the affection and
+admiration of many estimable literary people, some of whom he alienated
+by appearing before them when in a state of intoxication. He delivered
+a lecture on poetry, but attracted no hearers, and he was so chagrined
+by his disappointment, that he fell again into his old habits, and
+disgusted his new friends by his gross misconduct; he involved himself
+in another quarrel with some of the literati of Boston, and to show his
+contempt for them, went there and delivered a poem in public, which
+he pretended to have written in his tenth year. On his return to New
+York he was again reduced to great straits; and in 1848 he advertised
+a series of lectures, in order to raise sufficient means to put into
+execution his long-cherished plan of a magazine; but he delivered only
+one lecture on the Cosmogony of the Universe, which was afterwards
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxviii">[Pg xxviii]</span>
+published under the title of “Eureka, a Prose Poem.” His wife had died
+the year previously, and during her illness he was reduced to such
+extremities that public appeals, which were generously responded to,
+were made in his behalf by the papers of New York.</p>
+
+<p>Not long after the death of his wife he formed an intimacy with an
+accomplished literary lady of Rhode Island, a widow, and was engaged to
+be married to her. It was to her that he addressed the poem “Annabel
+Lee;” the day was appointed for their marriage; but he had, in the
+meantime, formed other plans; and, to disentangle himself from this
+engagement, he visited the house of his affianced bride, where he
+conducted himself with such indecent violence that the aid of the
+police had to be called in to expel him. This, of course, put an end
+to the engagement. In a short time after he went to Richmond, and
+there gained the confidence and affections of a lady of good family
+and considerable fortune. The day was appointed for their marriage,
+and he left Virginia to return to New York to fulfil some literary
+arrangements previous to the consummation of this new engagement.
+He had written to his friends that he had, at last, a prospect of
+happiness. The Lost Lenore was found. He arrived in Baltimore on his
+way to the north, and gave his baggage into the charge of a porter,
+intending to leave in an hour for Philadelphia. Stepping into an hotel
+to obtain some refreshments, he met some of his former companions, who
+invited him to drink with them. In a few moments all was over with him.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxix">[Pg xxix]</span>
+He spent the night in revelry, wandered out into the street in a
+state of insanity, and was found in the morning literally dying from
+exposure, and a single night’s excesses. He was taken to a hospital,
+and, on the 7th October, 1849, at the age of thirty-eight, he closed
+his troubled life. Three days before he had left his newly-affianced
+bride to prepare for their nuptials. He lies in a burying-ground in
+Baltimore, his native city, without a stone to mark the place of his
+last rest.</p>
+
+<p>In person Edgar Allan Poe was slight, and hardly of the medium height;
+his motions were quick and nervous, his air was abstracted, and his
+countenance generally serious and pale. He never laughed, and rarely
+smiled; but in conversation he was vivacious, earnest, and respectful;
+and though he appeared generally under restraint, as though guarding
+against a half-subdued passion, yet his manners were engaging, and he
+never failed to win the confidence and kind feelings of those with whom
+he conversed for the first time; and there were a few who knew him
+long and intimately who could never believe that he was ever otherwise
+than the pleasant, intelligent, respectful, and earnest companion he
+appeared to them. Though he was at times so reckless and profligate
+in his conduct, and so indifferent to external proprieties, he was
+generally scrupulously exact in everything he did. He dressed with
+extreme neatness and perfectly good taste, avoiding all ornaments and
+everything of a bizarre appearance. He was painfully alive to all
+imperfections of art; and a false rhyme, an ambiguous sentence, or even
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxx">[Pg xxx]</span>
+a typographical error, threw him into an ecstasy of passion. It was
+this sensitiveness to all artistic imperfections, rather than any
+malignity of feeling, which made his criticisms so severe, and procured
+him a host of enemies among persons towards whom he never entertained
+any personal ill-will. He criticised his own productions with the same
+severity that he exercised towards the writings of others; and all his
+poems, though he sometimes represented them as offsprings of a sudden
+inspiration, were the work of elaborate study. His handwriting was
+always neat and singularly uniform, and his manuscripts were invariably
+on long slips of paper about four inches wide, which he never folded,
+but always made into a roll. Nothing he ever did had the appearance of
+haste or slovenliness, and he preserved with religious care every scrap
+he had ever written, and every letter he ever received, so that he left
+behind him the amplest materials for the composition of his literary
+life. At his own request these remnants of his existence were entrusted
+to Doctor Griswold, a gentleman with whom he had quarrelled, and had
+lampooned in his lectures; Doctor Griswold, in a generous spirit,
+accepted the charge, and produced from the papers entrusted to him, the
+best biography of the strange being that has been published, which was
+appended to the collection of his works in four volumes issued in New York.</p>
+
+<p><i>June, 1857.</i></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p>
+  <h2 class="nobreak">MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="RAVEN_1" src="images/i_003.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="572" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>THE RAVEN.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent36">Only this and nothing more.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent36">Nameless here for evermore.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent36">This it is and nothing more.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent36">Darkness there and nothing more.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!”</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent36">Merely this and nothing more.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="RAVEN_2" src="images/i_007.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="604" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent36">’Tis the wind and nothing more.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent33">Perched, and sat, and nothing more.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">craven,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”</div>
+      <div class="verse indent36">Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
+                            <span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent36">With such name as “Nevermore.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On the morrow <i>he</i> will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”</div>
+      <div class="verse indent36">Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore</div>
+      <div class="verse indent36">Of ‘Never—nevermore.’”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and</div>
+      <div class="verse indent5">door;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore</div>
+      <div class="verse indent36">Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er</div>
+      <div class="verse indent30"><i>She</i> shall press, ah, nevermore!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="RAVEN_3" src="images/i_010.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="579" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
+                              <span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent39">Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is there—<i>is</i> there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”</div>
+      <div class="verse indent39">Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or devil!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">By that heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the Angels name Lenore—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”</div>
+      <div class="verse indent39">Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”</div>
+      <div class="verse indent39">Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
+                           <span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor</div>
+      <div class="verse indent40">Shall be lifted—nevermore!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="RAVEN_4" src="images/i_014.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="425" >
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p class="spa2"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="LENORE_1" src="images/i_017.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="530" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>LENORE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown for ever!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Let the bell toll!—a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And, Guy De Vere, hast <i>thou</i> no tear?—weep now or never more!
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Come! let the burial rite be read—the funeral song be sung!—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.</div>
+    </div>
+
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_018.jpg" width="50" height="81" alt="W" ></div>
+ <div class="dpv00">retches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,</div>
+ <div class="dpv00">And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her—that she died!</div>
+ <div class="dpv00">How <i>shall</i> the ritual, then, be read?—-the requiem how be sung</div>
+ <div class="dpv00">By you—by yours, the evil eye,—by yours, the slanderous tongue</div>
+ <div class="dpv00">That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?</div>
+ </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0"><i>Peccavimus</i>; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The sweet Lenore hath “gone before,” with Hope, that flew beside,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For her, the fair and <i>débonnaire</i>, that now so lowly lies,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The life upon her yellow hair, but not within her eyes—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The life still there, upon her hair—the death upon her eyes.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But waft the angel on her flight with a pæan of old days!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Let <i>no</i> bell toll!—lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damnèd Earth.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven.”
+                           <span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="LENORE_2" src="images/i_021.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="499" >
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span></p>
+
+<h3>A VALENTINE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_022.jpg" width="50" height="89" alt="F" ></div>
+ <div class="dpv00">or her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,</div>
+ <div class="dpv01">Brightly expressive as the twins of Lœda,</div>
+ <div class="dpv00">Shall find her own sweet name, that, nestling lies</div>
+ <div class="dpv01">Upon the page enwrapped from every reader.</div>
+ <div class="dpv00">Search narrowly the lines!—they hold a treasure</div>
+ <div class="dpv01">Divine—a talisman—an amulet</div>
+ <div class="dpv00">That must be worn <i>at heart</i>. Search well the measure—</div>
+ <div class="dpv01">The words—the syllables! Do not forget</div>
+ <div class="dpv00">The trivialest point, or you may lose your labour!</div>
+ <div class="dpv01">And yet there is in this no Gordian knot</div>
+ <div class="dpv00">Which one might not undo without a sabre,</div>
+ <div class="dpv01">If one could merely comprehend the plot.</div>
+ <div class="dpv00">Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering</div>
+ <div class="dpv01">Eyes’ scintillating soul, there lie <i>perdus</i></div>
+ <div class="dpv00">Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing</div>
+ <div class="dpv01">Of poets, by poets—as the name is a poet’s, too.</div>
+ <div class="dpv00">Its letters, although naturally lying</div>
+ <div class="dpv01">Like the knight Pinto—Mendez Ferdinando—</div>
+ <div class="dpv00">Still form a synonym for Truth.—Cease trying!</div>
+ <div class="dpv01">You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you <i>can</i> do.</div>
+ </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="blockquot fs_90">To translate the address, read the first
+letter of the first line in connexion 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. The name will thus appear.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="COLISEUM" src="images/i_025.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="585" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>THE COLISEUM.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Type of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of lofty contemplation left to Time</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">By buried centuries of pomp and power!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">At length—at length—after so many days
+                        <span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I kneel, an altered and an humble man,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Amid thy shadows, and so drink within</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I feel ye now—I feel ye in your strength—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O spells more sure than e’er Judæan king</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Here, where a hero fell, a column falls!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Lit by the wan light of the hornèd moon,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The swift and silent lizard of the stones!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">But stay! these walls—these ivy-clad arcades—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">These mouldering plinths—these sad and blackened shafts—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">These vague entablatures—this crumbling frieze—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">These shattered cornices—this wreck—this ruin—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">These stones—alas! these grey stones—are they all—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">All of the famed and the colossal left</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?
+                       <span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Not all”—the Echoes answer me—“not all!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Prophetic sounds and loud arise for ever</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As melody from Memnon to the Sun.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">We rule the hearts of mightiest men—we rule</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With a despotic sway all giant minds.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">We are not impotent—we pallid stones.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not all our power is gone—not all our fame—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not all the magic of our high renown—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not all the wonder that encircles us—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not all the mysteries that in us lie—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not all the memories that hang upon</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And cling around about us as a garment,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Clothing us in a robe of more than glory.”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_027a.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="124" >
+</div>
+
+<h3 id="TO__">TO —— &nbsp; ——.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+      <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_027b.jpg" width="50" height="80" alt="N" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="smcap">ot</span> long ago, the writer of these lines,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">In the mad pride of intellectuality,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Maintained “the power of words”—denied that ever</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">A thought arose within the human brain</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Beyond the utterance of the human tongue:
+                     <span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></div>
+      <div class="dpv00">And now, as if in mockery of that boast,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Two words—two foreign soft dissyllables—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Italian tones, made only to be murmured</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">By angels dreaming in the moon-lit “dew</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill,”—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Richer, far wilder, far diviner visions</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Than even the seraph harper, Israfel,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">(Who has “the sweetest voice of all God’s creatures,”)</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Could hope to utter. And I! my spells are broken.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">With thy dear name as text, though bidden by thee,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">I cannot write—I cannot speak or think—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Alas, I cannot feel; for ’tis not feeling,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">This standing motionless upon the golden</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Threshold of the wide-open gate of dreams,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Gazing, entranced, adown the gorgeous vista,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">And thrilling as I see, upon the right,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Upon the left, and all the way along,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Amid unpurpled vapours, far away</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">To where the prospect terminates—<i>thee only</i>.</div>
+     </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="HELEN_1" src="images/i_031.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="570" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>TO HELEN.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">I saw thee once—once only—years ago:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I must not say <i>how</i> many—but <i>not</i> many.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It was a July midnight; and from out</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring,
+               <span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">There fell a silvery-silken veil of light,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Upon the upturn’d faces of a thousand</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Roses that grew in an enchanted garden,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fell on the upturn’d faces of these roses,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That gave out, in return for the love-light,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fell on the upturn’d faces of these roses</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">By thee, and by the poetry of thy presence.</div>
+    </div>
+
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_032.jpg" width="50" height="80" alt="C" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="smcap">lad</span> all in white, upon a violet bank</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">I saw thee half reclining; while the moon</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Fell on the upturn’d faces of the roses,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">And on thine own, upturn’d—alas, in sorrow!</div>
+ </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Was it not Fate (whose name is also Sorrow)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That bade me pause before that garden-gate,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">No footstep stirred: the hated world all slept,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Save only thee and me. (Oh, Heaven!—oh, God!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">How my heart beats in coupling those two words!)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Save only thee and me. I paused—I looked—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And in an instant all things disappeared.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!)
+              <span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="HELEN_2" src="images/i_035.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="599" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">The pearly lustre of the moon went out:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The mossy banks and the meandering paths,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The happy flowers and the repining trees,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Were seen no more: the very roses’ odours</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Died in the arms of the adoring airs.</div>
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">All—all expired save thee—save less than thou:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Save only the divine light in thine eyes—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I saw but them—they were the world to me.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I saw but them—saw only them for hours—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Saw only them until the moon went down.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">How dark a woe! yet how sublime a hope!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">How silently serene a sea of pride!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">How daring an ambition! yet how deep—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">How fathomless a capacity for love!</div>
+    </div>
+
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_036.jpg" width="70" height="79" alt="B" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="smcap">ut</span> now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Into a western couch of thunder-cloud;</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Didst glide away. <i>Only thine eyes remained.</i></div>
+      <div class="dpv00">They <i>would not</i> go—they never yet have gone.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Lighting my lonely pathway home that night,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><i>They</i> have not left me (as my hopes have) since.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">They follow me—they lead me through the years.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">They are my ministers—yet I their slave.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Their office is to illumine and enkindle—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">My duty, <i>to be saved</i> by their bright light,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">And purified in their electric fire,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">And sanctified in their elysian fire.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope),</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">And are far up in heaven—the stars I kneel to
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span></div>
+      <div class="dpv00">In the sad, silent watches of my night;</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">While even in the meridian glare of day</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">I see them still—two sweetly scintillant</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!</div>
+ </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="HELEN_3" src="images/i_039.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="535" >
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p>
+
+<h3>AN ENIGMA.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_040a.jpg" width="50" height="101" alt="S" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="smcap">eldom</span> we find,” says Solomon Don Dunce,</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">”Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Through all the flimsy things we see at once</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">As easily as through a Naples bonnet—</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">Trash of all trash!—how <i>can</i> a lady don it?</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it.”</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">And, veritably, Sol is right enough.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">The general tuckermanities are arrant</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Bubbles—ephemeral and <i>so</i> transparent—</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">But <i>this</i> is, now,—you may depend upon it—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Stable, opaque, immortal—all by dint</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Of the dear names that lie concealed within ’t.</div>
+ </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_040b.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="136" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="ULALUME_1" src="images/i_043.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="548" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>ULALUME.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">The skies they were ashen and sober;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The leaves they were crisped and sere—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The leaves they were withering and sere;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It was night in the lonesome October
+                       <span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Of my most immemorial year;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">In the misty mid region of Weir—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Here once, through an alley Titanic,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Of cypress, with Pysche, my Soul.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">These were days when my heart was volcanic</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">As the scoriac rivers that roll—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">As the lavas that restlessly roll</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">In the ultimate climes of the pole—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">In the realms of the boreal pole.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Our talk had been serious and sober,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">But our thoughts they were palsied and sere—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Our memories were treacherous and sere—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For we knew not the month was October,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">And we marked not the night of the year—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">(Ah, night of all nights in the year!)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">We noted not the dim lake of Auber—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">(Though once we had journeyed down here)—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And now, as the night was senescent</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">And star-dials pointed to morn—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">As the star-dials hinted of morn—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">At the end of our path a liquescent</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">And nebulous lustre was born,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Out of which a miraculous crescent</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Arose with a duplicate horn—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Astarte’s bediamonded crescent</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Distinct with its duplicate horn.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And I said—“She is warmer than Dian:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">She rolls through an ether of sighs—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">She revels in a region of sighs:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">She has seen that the tears are not dry on</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">These cheeks, where the worm never dies,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And has come past the stars of the Lion</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">To point us the path to the skies—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">To the Lethean peace of the skies—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Come up, in despite of the Lion,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">To shine on us with her bright eyes—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Come up through the lair of the Lion,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">With love in her luminous eyes.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">But Pysche, uplifting her finger,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Said—“Sadly this star I mistrust—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Her pallor I strangely mistrust:—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Oh, hasten!—oh, let us not linger!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Oh, fly! let us fly!—for we must.”
+                      <span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In terror she spoke, letting sink her</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Wings until they trailed in the dust—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In agony sobbed, letting sink her</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Plumes till they trailed in the dust—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">I replied—“This is nothing but dreaming:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Let us on by this tremulous light!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Let us bathe in this crystalline light!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Its Sybilic splendour is beaming</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">With Hope and in Beauty to-night:—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">See!—it flickers up the sky through the night!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">And be sure it will lead us aright—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">We safely may trust to a gleaming</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">That cannot but guide us aright,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">And tempted her out of her gloom—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">And conquered her scruples and gloom;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And we passed to the end of the vista,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">But were stopped by the door of a tomb—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">By the door of a legended tomb;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And I said—“What is written, sweet sister,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">On the door of this legended tomb?”</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">She replied—“Ulalume—Ulalume—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">’Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!”
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="ULALUME_2" src="images/i_049.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="583" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Then my heart it grew ashen and sober</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">As the leaves that were crisped and sere—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">As the leaves that were withering and sere,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And I cried—“It was surely October
+                      <span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">On <i>this</i> very night of last year</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">That I journeyed—I journeyed down here—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">That I brought a dread burden down here—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">On this night of all nights in the year,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Ah, what demon has tempted me here?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">This misty mid region of Weir—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_050.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="156" >
+</div>
+
+<h3 id="TO____">TO ——.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0"><span class="fs_200">I</span>&nbsp; heed not that my earthly lot</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Hath—little of Earth in it—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That years of love have been forgot</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">In the hatred of a minute:—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I mourn not that the desolate</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Are happier, sweet, than I,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But that <i>you</i> sorrow for <i>my</i> fate</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Who am a passer by.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span></p>
+<h3>TO MY MOTHER.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_051a.jpg" width="50" height="101" alt="B" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00">ecause I feel that, in the heavens above,</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">The angels, whispering to one another,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Can find, among their burning terms of love,</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">None so devotional as that of “Mother,”</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Therefore by that dear name I long have called you—</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">You who are more than mother unto me,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">In setting my Virginia’s spirit free.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">My mother—my own mother, who died early,</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">Was but the mother of myself; but you</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">And thus are dearer than the mother I knew</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">By that infinity with which my wife</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.</div>
+     </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_051b.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="168" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="BELLS_1" src="images/i_052.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="491" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>THE BELLS.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent17 fs_130">I.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent8">Hear the sledges with the bells—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent16">Silver bells!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What a world of merriment their melody foretells!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">In the icy air of night!
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">While the stars that oversprinkle</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">All the heavens, seem to twinkle</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">With a crystalline delight;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">Keeping time, time, time,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">In a sort of Runic rhyme,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To the tintinabulation that so musically wells</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">From the bells, bells, bells, bells,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent18">Bells, bells, bells—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent16 fs_130">II.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent8">Hear the mellow wedding bells,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent18">Golden bells!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Through the balmy air of night</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">How they ring out their delight!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">From the molten-golden notes,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">And all in tune,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">What a liquid ditty floats</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">On the moon!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Oh, from out the sounding cells,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">How it swells!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">How it dwells</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">On the Future! how it tells</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">Of the rapture that impels</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">To the swinging and the ringing</div>
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>      <div class="verse indent10">Of the bells, bells, bells,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">Bells, bells, bells—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="BELLS_2" src="images/i_056.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="588" >
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent16 fs_130">III.</div>
+    </div>
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_059.jpg" width="50" height="105" alt="H" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00">ear the loud alarum bells—</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Brazen bells!</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">In the startled ear of night</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">How they scream out their affright!</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Too much horrified to speak,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">They can only shriek, shriek,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Out of tune,</div>
+     </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">Leaping higher, higher, higher,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">With a desperate desire,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">And a resolute endeavour,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">Now—now to sit or never,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">By the side of the pale-faced moon.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">Oh, the bells, bells, bells!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">What a tale their terror tells</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Of Despair!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">How they clang, and clash, and roar!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">What a horror they outpour
+             <span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On the besom of the palpitating air!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Yet the ear it fully knows,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">By the twanging,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">And the clanging,
+                     <span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">How the danger ebbs and flows;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Yet the ear distinctly tells,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">In the jangling,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">And the wrangling,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">How the danger sinks and swells,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent18">Of the bells—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">Bells, bells, bells—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">In the clamour and the clangour of the bells!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="BELLS_3" src="images/i_060.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="488" >
+    <img id="BELLS_4" src="images/i_064.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="617" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent16 fs_130">IV.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10">Hear the tolling of the bells—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Iron bells!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">In the silence of the night,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">How we shiver with affright</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">At the melancholy menace of their tone!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">For every sound that floats</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">From the rust within their throats</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Is a groan.
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the people—ah, the people—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">They that dwell up in the steeple,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">All alone,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">In that muffled monotone,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Feel a glory in so rolling</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">On the human heart a stone—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">They are neither man nor woman—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">They are neither brute nor human—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">They are Ghouls:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And their king it is who tolls;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And he rolls, rolls, rolls,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">Rolls</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">A pæan from the bells!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And his merry bosom swells</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">With the pæan of the bells!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And he dances, and he yells;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Keeping time, time, time,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In a sort of Runic rhyme,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To the pæan of the bells—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Of the bells:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Keeping time, time, time,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In a sort of Runic rhyme,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To the throbbing of the bells—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of the bells, bells, bells—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To the sobbing of the bells;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Keeping time, time, time,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">As he knells, knells, knells,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In a happy Runic rhyme,
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">To the rolling of the bells—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of the bells, bells, bells—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">To the tolling of the bells,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of the bells, bells, bells, bells—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent9">Bells, bells, bells—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_068.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="255" >
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p>
+
+<h3>THE CONQUEROR WORM.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_069.jpg" width="50" height="92" alt="L" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00">o! ’tis a gala night</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Within the lonesome latter years!</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">An angel throng, bewinged, bedight</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">In veils, and drowned in tears,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Sit in a theatre, to see</div>
+      <div class="dpv02"><span class="ws2">&nbsp; A play of hopes and fears,</span></div>
+      <div class="dpv00">While the orchestra breathes fitfully</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">The music of the spheres.</div>
+     </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Mimes, in the form of God on high,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Mutter and mumble low,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And hither and thither fly—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Mere puppets they, who come and go</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">At bidding of vast formless things</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That shift the scenery to and fro,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Flapping from out their Condor wings</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Invisible Woe!
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">That motley drama—oh, be sure</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">It shall not be forgot!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With its Phantom chased for evermore,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">By a crowd that seize it not,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Through a circle that ever returneth in</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To the self-same spot,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And much of Madness, and more of Sin,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And Horror the soul of the plot.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">But see, amid the mimic rout</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">A crawling shape intrude!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A blood-red thing that writhes from out</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The scenic solitude!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The mimes become its food,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the angels sob at vermin fangs</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">In human gore imbued.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Out—out are the lights—out all!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And, over each quivering form,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The curtain, a funeral pall,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Comes down with the rush of a storm,
+                     <span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the angels, all pallid and wan,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Uprising, unveiling, affirm</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That the play is the tragedy “Man,”</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And its hero the Conqueror Worm.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_071.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="248" >
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="ANNABEL_1" src="images/i_072.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="558" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>ANNABEL LEE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">It was many and many a year ago,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">In a kingdom by the sea,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That a maiden there lived whom you may know</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">By the name of <span class="smcap">Annabel Lee</span>;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And this maiden she lived with no other thought</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Than to love and be loved by me.
+                        <span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0"><i>I</i> was a child and <i>she</i> was a child,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">In this kingdom by the sea:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But we loved with a love that was more than love—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">I and my <span class="smcap">Annabel Lee</span>;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Coveted her and me.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And this was the reason that, long ago,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">In this kingdom by the sea,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">My beautiful <span class="smcap">Annabel Lee</span>;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So that her high-born kinsman came</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">And bore her away from me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To shut her up in a sepulchre</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">In this kingdom by the sea.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">The angels, not half so happy in heaven,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Went envying her and me—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">In this kingdom by the sea)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That the wind came out of the cloud by night,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Chilling and killing my <span class="smcap">Annabel Lee</span>.
+              <span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="ANNABEL_2" src="images/i_076.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="529" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">But our love it was stronger by far than the love</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Of those who were older than we—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Of many far wiser than we—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And neither the angels in heaven above,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Nor the demons down under the sea,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Can ever dissever my soul from the soul</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Of the beautiful <span class="smcap">Annabel Lee</span>:
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Of the beautiful <span class="smcap">Annabel Lee</span>;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Of the beautiful <span class="smcap">Annabel Lee</span>;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">In the sepulchre there by the sea,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">In her tomb by the sounding sea.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_079.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="124" >
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span></p>
+
+<h3>THE VALLEY OF UNREST.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_080.jpg" width="50" height="101" alt="O" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="allsmcap">NCE</span> it smiled a silent dell</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Where the people did not dwell;</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">They had gone unto the wars,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Nightly, from their azure towers,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">To keep watch above the flowers,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">In the midst of which all day</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">The red sun-light lazily lay.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><i>Now</i> each visitor shall confess</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">The sad valley’s restlessness.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Nothing there is motionless—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Nothing save the airs that brood</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Over the magic solitude.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">That palpitate like the chill seas</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Around the misty Hebrides!</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">That rustle through the unquiet heaven</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Uneasily, from morn till even,
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Over the violets there that lie</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">In myriad types of the human eye—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Over the lilies there that wave</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">And weep above a nameless grave!</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">They wave:—from out their fragrant tops</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Eternal dews come down in drops.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">They weep:—from off their delicate stems</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Perennial tears descend in gems.</div>
+     </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_081.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="119" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="ISRAFEL" src="images/i_082.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="570" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>ISRAFEL.&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_1_1" href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">In heaven a spirit doth dwell</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">“Whose heart-strings are a lute;”
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">None sing so wildly well</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As the angel Israfel,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the giddy stars (so legends tell)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of his voice, all mute.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Tottering above</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">In her highest noon,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The enamoured moon</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Blushes with love,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">While, to listen, the red levin</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">(With the rapid Pleiads, even,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Which were seven)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Pauses in heaven.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And they say (the starry choir</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And the other listening things)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That Israfeli’s fire</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is owing to that lyre</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">By which he sits and sings—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The trembling living wire</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of those unusual strings.
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">But the skies that angel trod,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Where deep thoughts are a duty—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Where Love’s a grown-up God—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Where the Houri glances are</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Imbued with all the beauty</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Which we worship in a star.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Therefore, thou art not wrong,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Israfeli, who despisest</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">An unimpassioned song;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To thee the laurels belong,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Best bard, because the wisest!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Merrily live, and long!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">The ecstasies above</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">With thy burning measures suit—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">With the fervour of thy lute—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Well may the stars be mute!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Yes, heaven is thine; but this</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Is a world of sweets and sours;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Our flowers are merely—flowers,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the shadow of thy perfect bliss</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Is the sunshine of ours.
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">If I could dwell</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Where Israfel</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Hath dwelt, and he where I,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">He might not sing so wildly well</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">A mortal melody,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">While a bolder note than this might swell</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">From my lyre within the sky.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_087.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="171" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span></p>
+<h3>SILENCE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_088.jpg" width="50" height="111" alt="T" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="allsmcap">here</span> are some qualities—some incorporate things,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">That have a double life, which thus is made</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">A type of that twin entity which springs</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">There is a two-fold <i>Silence</i>—sea and shore—</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Newly with grass o’ergrown; some solemn graces,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Some human memories and tearful lore,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Render him terrorless: his name’s “No More.”</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">No power hath he of evil in himself;</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">No foot of man), commend thyself to God!</div>
+    </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="ZANTE" src="images/i_091.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="606" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>TO ZANTE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take!
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">How many memories of what radiant hours</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">At sight of thee and thine at once awake!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">How many scenes of what departed bliss!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">How many thoughts of what entombèd hopes!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">How many visions of a maiden that is</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">No more—no more upon thy verdant slopes!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0"><i>No more!</i> alas, that magical sad sound</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Transforming all! Thy charms shall please <i>no more</i>—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy memory <i>no more</i>! Accursèd ground</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">“Isola d’oro! Fior di Levante!”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_092.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="144" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p>
+<h3>TO F——S S. O——D.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_093a.jpg" width="60" height="113" alt="T" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="allsmcap">hou</span> wouldst be loved?—then let thy heart</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">From its present pathway part not!</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Being everything which now thou art,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Be nothing which thou art not.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">So with the world thy gentle ways,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02"><span class="ws2">Thy grace, thy more than beauty,</span></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="ws2">Shall be an endless theme of praise,</span></div>
+      <div class="dpv02"><span class="ws2">And love—a simple duty.</span></div>
+</div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_093b.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="113" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p>
+<h3>BRIDAL BALLAD.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_094.jpg" width="60" height="116" alt="T" ></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">he</span> ring is on my hand,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And the wreath is on my brow;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Satins and jewels grand</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Are all at my command,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And I am happy now.</div>
+</div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And my lord he loves me well;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">But, when first he breathed his vow,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I felt my bosom swell—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For the words rang as a knell,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the voice seemed <i>his</i> who fell</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In the battle down the dell,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And who is happy now.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">But he spoke to reassure me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And he kissed my pallid brow,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">While a reverie came o’er me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And to the church-yard bore me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And I sighed to him before me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thinking him dead D’Elormie,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">“Oh, I am happy now!”
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And thus the words were spoken,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And thus the plighted vow;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And though my faith be broken,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And though my heart be broken,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Behold the golden token</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That <i>proves</i> me happy now!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Would God I could awaken!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">For I dream I know not how,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And my soul is sorely shaken</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Lest an evil step be taken,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Lest the dead who is forsaken</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">May not be happy now.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="HAUNTED" src="images/i_096.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="551" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>THE HAUNTED PALACE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">In the greenest of our valleys</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">By good angels tenanted,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Once a fair and stately palace—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Radiant palace—reared its head.
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In the monarch Thought’s dominion—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">It stood there!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Never seraph spread a pinion</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Over fabric half so fair!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Banners yellow, glorious, golden,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">On its roof did float and flow,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(This—all this—was in the olden</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Time long ago,)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And every gentle air that dallied,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">In that sweet day,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">A wingèd odour went away.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Wanderers in that happy valley,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Through two luminous windows, saw</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Spirits moving musically,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To a lute’s well-tunèd law,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Round about a throne where, sitting</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">(Porphyrogene!)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In state his glory well befitting,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The ruler of the realm was seen.
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And all with pearl and ruby glowing</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Was the fair palace-door,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And sparkling evermore,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Was but to sing,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In voices of surpassing beauty,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The wit and wisdom of their king.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">But evil things, in robes of sorrow,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Assailed the monarch’s high estate.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(Ah, let us mourn!—for never morrow</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Shall dawn upon him desolate!)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And round about his home, the glory</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That blushed and bloomed</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is but a dim-remembered story</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of the old time entombed.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And travellers now, within that valley,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Through the red-litten windows see</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Vast forms, that move fantastically</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To a discordant melody,
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">While, like a ghastly rapid river,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Through the pale door</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A hideous throng rush out for ever</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And laugh—but smile no more.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_101.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="122" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="EULALIE" src="images/i_102.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="552" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>EULALIE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent20">I dwelt alone</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">In a world of moan,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">And my soul was a stagnant tide,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride.
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent20">Ah, less—less bright</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">The stars of the night</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">Than the eyes of the radiant girl!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">And never a flake</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">That the vapour can make</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">With the moon-tints of purple and pearl,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Can vie with the modest Eulalie’s most unregarded curl—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie’s most humble and careless curl.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent20">Now Doubt—now Pain</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Come never again,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">For her soul gives me sigh for sigh,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">And all day long</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Shines, bright and strong,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">Astarté within the sky,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_105.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="122" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p>
+<h3>TO F——.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_051a.jpg" width="50" height="101" alt="B" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="allsmcap">eloved</span>! amid the earnest woes</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">That crowd around my earthly path—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">(Drear path, alas! where grows</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Not even one lonely rose)—</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">My soul at least a solace hath</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">In dreams of thee, and therein knows</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">An Eden of bland repose.</div>
+</div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And thus thy memory is to me</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Like some enchanted far-off isle</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In some tumultuous sea—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Some ocean throbbing far and free</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">With storms—but where meanwhile</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Serenest skies continually</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Just o’er that one bright island smile.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="PARADISE" src="images/i_109.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="433" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>TO ONE IN PARADISE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou wast that all to me, love,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">For which my soul did pine—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A green isle in the sea, love,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">A fountain and a shrine,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And all the flowers were mine.
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ah, dream too bright to last!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But to be overcast!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">A voice from out the Future cries,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“On! on!”—but o’er the Past</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Mute, motionless, aghast!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">For, alas! alas! with me</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The light of Life is o’er!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">“No more—no more—no more—”</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(Such language holds the solemn sea</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To the sands upon the shore)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Or the stricken eagle soar!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And all my days are trances,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And all my nightly dreams</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Are where thy dark eye glances,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And where thy footstep gleams—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In what ethereal dances,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">By what eternal streams.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_111.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="114" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p>
+
+<h3>DREAM-LAND.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_036.jpg" width="70" height="79" alt="B" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="allsmcap">y a</span> route obscure and lonely,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Haunted by ill angels only,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Where an Eidolon, named Night,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">&nbsp; On a black throne reigns upright,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">&nbsp; I have reached these lands but newly</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">&nbsp; From an ultimate dim Thule—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">&nbsp;&emsp;Out of <span class="smcap">Space</span>—out of <span class="smcap">Time</span>.</div>
+</div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent4">Bottomless vales and boundless floods,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">With forms that no man can discover</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">For the dews that drip all over;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Mountains toppling evermore
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Into seas without a shore;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Seas that restlessly aspire,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Surging, unto skies of fire;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Lakes that endlessly outspread</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Their lone waters—lone and dead,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Their still waters—still and chilly</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">With the snows of the lolling lily.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">By the lakes that thus outspread</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Their lone waters, lone and dead,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Their sad waters, sad and chilly</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">With the snows of the lolling lily,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">By the mountains—near the river</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">By the grey woods,—by the swamp</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Where the toad and the newt encamp,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">By the dismal tarns and pools</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Where dwell the Ghouls,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">By each spot the most unholy —</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">In each nook most melancholy,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">There the traveller meets aghast</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Sheeted Memories of the Past—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Shrouded forms that start and sigh</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">As they pass the wanderer by—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">White-robed forms of friends long given,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">In agony, to the Earth—and Heaven.
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">For the heart whose woes are legion</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">’Tis a peaceful, soothing region—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">For the spirit that walks in shadow</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">’Tis—oh, ’tis an Eldorado!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="DREAM" src="images/i_115.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="569" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">But the traveller, travelling through it,
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">May not—dare not openly view it;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Never its mysteries are exposed</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To the weak human eye unclosed;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So wills its King, who hath forbid</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The uplifting of the fringed lid;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And thus the sad Soul that here passes</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Beholds it but through darkened glasses.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">By a route obscure and lonely,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Haunted by ill angels only,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Where an Eidolon, named <span class="smcap">Night</span>,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On a black throne reigns upright,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I have wandered home but newly</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From this ultimate dim Thule.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p>
+
+<h3>HYMN.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_117a.jpg" width="50" height="113" alt="A" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="allsmcap">t</span> morn—at noon—at twilight dim—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Maria! thou hast heard my hymn!</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">In joy and woe—in good and ill—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Mother of God, be with me still!</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">When the Hours flew brightly by,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">And not a cloud obscured the sky,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">My soul, lest it should truant be,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Thy grace did guide to thine and thee;</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Now, when storms of Fate o’ercast</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Darkly my Present and my Past,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Let my Future radiant shine</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">With sweet hopes of thee and thine!</div>
+</div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_117b.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="121" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="SLEEPER" src="images/i_118.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="586" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>THE SLEEPER.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">At midnight, in the month of June,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I stand beneath the mystic moon.
+                     <span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">An opiate vapour, dewy, dim,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Exhales from out her golden rim,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And, softly dripping, drop by drop,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Upon the quiet mountain top,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Steals drowsily and musically</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Into the universal valley.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The rosemary nods upon the grave;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The lily lolls upon the wave;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Wrapping the fog about its breast,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The ruin moulders into rest;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Looking like Lethe, see! the lake</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A conscious slumber seems to take,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And would not, for the world, awake.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">All Beauty sleeps!—and lo! where lies</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(Her casement open to the skies)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Irene, with her Destinies!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Oh, lady bright! can it be right—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">This window open to the night?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The wanton airs, from the tree-top,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Laughingly through the lattice drop—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Flit through thy chamber in and out,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And wave the curtain canopy</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So fitfully—so fearfully—
+                        <span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Above the close and fringed lid</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">’Neath which thy slumb’ring soul lies hid,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That, o’er the floor and down the wall,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Why and what art thou dreaming here?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Sure thou art come o’er far-off seas,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A wonder to these garden trees!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Strange, above all, thy length of tress,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And this all solemn silentness!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">The lady sleeps. Oh, may her sleep,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Which is enduring, so be deep!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Heaven have her in its sacred keep!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">This chamber changed for one more holy,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">This bed for one more melancholy,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I pray to God that she may lie</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For ever with unopened eye,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">While the dim sheeted ghosts go by!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As it is lasting, so be deep!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Soft may the worms about her creep!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Far in the forest, dim and old,
+                        <span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For her may some tall vault unfold—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Some vault that oft hath flung its black</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And winged panels fluttering back,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Triumphant, o’er the crested palls,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of her grand family funerals—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Some sepulchre, remote, alone,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Against whose portal she hath thrown,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In childhood, many an idle stone—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Some tomb from out whose sounding door</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">She ne’er shall force an echo more,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It was the dead who groaned within.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span></p>
+
+<h3>FOR ANNIE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_124.jpg" width="70" height="114" alt="T" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="allsmcap">hank</span> Heaven! the crisis—</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">The danger is past,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">And the lingering illness</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">Is over at last—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">And the fever called “Living”</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Is conquered at last.</div>
+</div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Sadly, I know</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">I am shorn of my strength,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And no muscle I move</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">As I lie at full length—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But no matter!—I feel</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">I am better at length.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And I rest so composedly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Now, in my bed,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That any beholder</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Might fancy me dead—
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Might start at beholding me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Thinking me dead.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">The moaning and groaning,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The sighing and sobbing,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Are quieted now,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">With that horrible throbbing</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">At heart:—ah, that horrible,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Horrible throbbing!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">The sickness—the nausea—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The pitiless pain—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Have ceased, with the fever</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That maddened my brain—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With the fever called “Living”</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That burned in my brain.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And oh! of all tortures</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2"><i>That</i> torture the worst</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Has abated—the terrible</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Torture of thirst</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For the naphthaline river</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of Passion accurst:—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I have drunk of a water</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That quenches all thirst:—</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="ANNIE" src="images/i_126.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="555" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of a water that flows,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">With a lullaby sound,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From a spring but a very few</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Feet under ground—
+              <span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From a cavern not very far</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Down under ground.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And ah! let it never</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Be foolishly said</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That my room it is gloomy</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And narrow my bed;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For man never slept</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">In a different bed—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And, to <i>sleep</i>, you must slumber</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">In just such a bed.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">My tantalized spirit</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Here blandly reposes,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Forgetting, or never</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Regretting its roses—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Its old agitations</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of myrtles and roses:</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">For now, while so quietly</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Lying, it fancies</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A holier odour</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">About it, of pansies—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A rosemary odour,
+               <span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Commingled with pansies—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With rue and the beautiful</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Puritan pansies.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And so it lies happily,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Bathing in many</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A dream of the truth</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And the beauty of Annie—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Drowned in a bath</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of the tresses of Annie.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">She tenderly kissed me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">She fondly caressed,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And then I fell gently</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To sleep on her breast—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Deeply to sleep</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">From the heaven of her breast.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">When the light was extinguished,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">She covered me warm,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And she prayed to the angels</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To keep me from harm—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To the queen of the angels</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To shield me from harm.
+           <span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And I lie so composedly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Now, in my bed,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(Knowing her love)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That you fancy me dead—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And I rest so contentedly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Now in my bed,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(With her love at my breast)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That you fancy me dead—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That you shudder to look at me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Thinking me dead:—</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">But my heart it is brighter</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Than all of the many</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Stars in the sky,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">For it sparkles with Annie—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It glows with the light</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of the love of my Annie—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With the thought of the light</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of the eyes of my Annie.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_132.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="104" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p>
+
+<h3>ELDORADO.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent8">Gaily bedight,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">A gallant knight,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In sunshine and in shadow,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Had journeyed long,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Singing a song,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In search of Eldorado.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent8">But he grew old—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">This knight so bold—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And o’er his heart a shadow</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Fell as he found</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">No spot of ground</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That looked like Eldorado.
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="ELDORADO" src="images/i_135.jpg" alt="" width="450" height="574" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent4">And, as his strength</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Failed him at length,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">He met a pilgrim shadow—
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">“Shadow,” said he,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">“Where can it be—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">This land of Eldorado?”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent4">“Over the Mountains</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Of the Moon,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Down the Valley of the Shadow,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Ride, boldly ride,”</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The shade replied,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“If you seek for Eldorado!”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_136.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="214" >
+    <img id="DREAM_2" src="images/i_139.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="575" >
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p>
+
+<h3>A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Take this kiss upon the brow!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And, in parting from you now,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thus much let me avow—
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">You are not wrong, who deem</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That my days have been a dream;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Yet if hope has flown away</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In a night, or in a day,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In a vision, or in none,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is it therefore the less <i>gone</i>?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0"><i>All</i> that we see or seem</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is but a dream within a dream.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">I stand amid the roar</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of a surf-tormented shore,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And I hold within my hand</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Grains of the golden sand—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">How few! yet how they creep</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Through my fingers to the deep,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">While I weep—while I weep!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O God! can I not grasp</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Them with a tighter clasp?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O God! can I not save</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0"><i>One</i> from the pitiless wave?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is <i>all</i> that we see or seem</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But a dream within a dream?</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="CITY_1" src="images/i_143.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="566" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>THE CITY IN THE SEA.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Lo! Death has reared himself a throne</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In a strange city lying alone
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Far down within the dim West,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Have gone to their eternal rest.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">There shrines and palaces and towers</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Resemble nothing that is ours.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Around, by lifting winds forgot,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Resignedly beneath the sky</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The melancholy waters lie.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">No rays from the holy heaven come down</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On the long night-time of that town;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But light from out the lurid sea</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Streams up the turrets silently—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Gleams up the pinnacles far and free—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Up domes—up spires—up kingly halls—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Up fanes—up Babylon-like walls—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Up many and many a marvellous shrine</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Whose wreathèd friezes intertwine</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The viol, the violet, and the vine.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Resignedly beneath the sky</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The melancholy waters lie.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So blend the turrets and shadows there
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That all seem pendulous in air,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">While from a proud tower in the town</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Death looks gigantically down.
+           <span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="CITY_2" src="images/i_147.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="627" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">There open fanes and gaping graves</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Yawn level with the luminous waves;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But not the riches there that lie</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In each idol’s diamond eye—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not the gaily-jewelled dead</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Tempt the waters from their bed;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For no ripples curl, alas!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Along that wilderness of glass—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">No swellings tell that winds may be</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Upon some far-off happier sea—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">No heavings hint that winds have been</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On seas less hideously serene.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">But lo, a stir is in the air!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The wave—there is a movement there!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As if the towers had thrust aside,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In slightly sinking, the dull tide—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As if their tops had feebly given</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A void within the filmy heaven.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The waves have now a redder glow—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The hours are breathing faint and low—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And when, amid no earthly moans,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Down, down that town shall settle hence,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Shall do it reverence.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak">SCENES FROM “POLITIAN;”</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="center">AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="POLITIAN_1" src="images/i_151.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="570" >
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span></p>
+
+<p class="f120"><b>I.</b></p>
+
+<p class="center">ROME.—<i>A Hall in a Palace.</i> <span class="smcap">Alessandra</span>
+<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Castiglione</span>.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">ALESSANDRA.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou art sad, Castiglione.
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Sad!—not I.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Oh, I’m the happiest, happiest man in Rome!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A few days more, thou knowest, my Alessandra,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Will make thee mine. Oh, I am very happy!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">ALESSANDRA.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Methinks thou hast a singular way of showing</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy happiness!—what ails thee, cousin of mine?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Why didst thou sigh so deeply?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent24">Did I sigh?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I was not conscious of it. It is a fashion,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A silly—a most silly fashion I have</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">When I am <i>very</i> happy. Did I sigh?<span class="ws2">[<i>Sighing.</i></span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">ALESSANDRA.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou didst. Thou art not well. Thou hast indulged</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Too much of late, and I am vexed to see it.
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Late hours and wine, Castiglione,—these</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Will ruin thee! thou art already altered—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy looks are haggard—nothing so wears away</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The constitution as late hours and wine.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE &nbsp;[<i>musing</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Nothing, fair cousin, nothing—not even deep sorrow—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Wears it away like evil hours and wine.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I will amend.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">ALESSANDRA.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">Do it! I would have thee drop</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy riotous company, too—fellows low born—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ill suit the like with old Di Broglio’s heir</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And Alessandra’s husband.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I will drop them.
+              <span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">ALESSANDRA.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou wilt—thou must. Attend thou also more</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To thy dress and equipage—they are over plain</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For thy lofty rank and fashion—much depends</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Upon appearances.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent15">I’ll see to it.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">ALESSANDRA.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Then see to it!—pay more attention, Sir,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To a becoming carriage—much thou wantest</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In dignity.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">Much, much, oh much I want</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In proper dignity.
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="POLITIAN_2" src="images/i_157.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="601" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">ALESSANDRA [<i>haughtily</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">Thou mockest me, sir!
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE [<i>abstractedly</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Sweet, gentle Lalage!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">ALESSANDRA.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Heard I aright?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I speak to him—he speaks of Lalage!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Sir Count!&emsp;[<i>Places her hand on his shoulder.</i>]</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What, art thou dreaming? he’s not well!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What ails thee, Sir?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE [<i>starting</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Cousin! fair cousin!—madam!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I crave thy pardon—indeed I am not well—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Your hand from off my shoulder, if you please.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">This air is most oppressive!—Madam—the Duke!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Di Broglio</span>.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">DI BROGLIO.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My son, I’ve news for thee!—hey?—what’s the matter?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent23">[<i>Observing</i> <span class="smcap">Alessandra</span>.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">I’ the pouts? Kiss her, Castiglione! kiss her,
+                      <span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">You dog! and make it up, I say, this minute!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I’ve news for you both. Politian is expected</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Hourly in Rome—Politian, Earl of Leicester!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">We’ll have him at the wedding. ’Tis his first visit</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To the imperial city.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">ALESSANDRA.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent19">What! Politian</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of Britain, Earl of Leicester?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">DI BROGLIO.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent26">The same, my love.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">We’ll have him at the wedding. A man quite young</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In years, but grey in fame. I have not seen him,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But Rumour speaks of him as of a prodigy</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Pre-eminent in arts, and arms, and wealth,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And high descent. We’ll have him at the wedding.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">ALESSANDRA.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I have heard much of this Politian.
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Gay, volatile, and giddy—is he not?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And little given to thinking.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">DI BROGLIO.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent22">Far from it, love.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">No branch, they say, of all philosophy</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So deep abstruse he has not mastered it.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Learned as few are learned.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">ALESSANDRA.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent22">’Tis very strange!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I have known men have seen Politian</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And sought his company. They speak of him</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As of one who entered madly into life,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Drinking the cup of pleasure to the dregs.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ridiculous! Now, <i>I</i> have seen Politian,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And know him well—nor learned nor mirthful he.
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">He is a dreamer and a man shut out</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From common passions.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">DI BROGLIO.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Children, we disagree.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Let us go forth and taste the fragrant air</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of the garden. Did I dream, or did I hear</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Politian was a <i>melancholy</i> man?<span class="ws4">[<i>Exeunt.</i></span></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_161.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="116" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="POLITIAN_3" src="images/i_162.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="579" >
+</div>
+
+<p class="f120"><b>II.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="neg-indent">ROME.—<i>A Lady’s apartment, with a window open
+and looking into a garden.</i> <span class="smcap">Lalage</span>, <i>in
+deep mourning, reading at a table on which lie some books and a hand
+mirror. In the background</i> <span class="smcap">Jacinta</span> (<i>a
+servant maid</i>) <i>leans carelessly upon a chair</i>.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Jacinta! is it thou?
+            <span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">JACINTA&emsp;[<i>pertly</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">Yes, Ma’am, I’m here.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I did not know, Jacinta, you were in waiting.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Sit down!—let not my presence trouble you—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Sit down!—for I am humble, most humble.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">JACINTA&emsp;[<i>aside</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">’Tis time.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">[<span class="smcap">Jacinta</span> <i>seats herself
+                        in a side-long manner upon the</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent5"><i>chair, resting her elbows upon the back, and</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent5"><i>regarding her mistress with a contemptuous look</i>. </div>
+      <div class="verse indent5"><span class="smcap">Lalage</span> <i>continues to read</i>.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“It in another climate, so he said,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">&nbsp; Bore a bright golden flower, but not i’ this soil!”
+                        <span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">[<i>Pauses—turns over some leaves, and resumes.</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“No lingering winters there, nor snow, nor shower—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But Ocean ever to refresh mankind</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Breathes the shrill spirit of the western wind.”</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Oh, beautiful!—most beautiful!—how like</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To what my fevered soul doth dream of Heaven!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O happy land! [<i>Pauses.</i>] She died!—the maiden died!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O still more happy maiden who couldst die!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Jacinta!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">[<span class="smcap">Jacinta</span> <i>returns no answer, and</i> <span class="smcap">Lalage</span>
+                       <i>presently resumes</i>.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent12">Again!—a similar tale</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Told of a beauteous dame beyond the sea!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thus speaketh one Ferdinand in the words of the play—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“She died full young”—one Bossola answers him—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“I think not so—her infelicity</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Seemed to have years too many”—Ah luckless lady!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Jacinta!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent33">[<i>Still no answer.</i></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent9">Here’s a far sterner story,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But like—oh, very like in its despair—
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A thousand hearts—losing at length her own.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">She died. Thus endeth the history—and her maids</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Lean over her and weep—two gentle maids</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With gentle names—Eiros and Charmion!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Rainbow and Dove!——Jacinta!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">JACINTA [<i>pettishly</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Madam, what <i>is</i> it?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Wilt thou, my good Jacinta, be so kind</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As go down in the library and bring me</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The Holy Evangelists?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">JACINTA.
+                        <span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent16">Pshaw!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent35">[<i>Exit.</i></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent25">If there be balm</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For the wounded spirit in Gilead, it is there!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Dew in the night-time of my bitter trouble</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Will there be found—“dew sweeter far than that</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Which hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent4"><i>Re-enter</i> <span class="smcap">Jacinta</span>,
+                  <i>and throws a volume on the table</i>.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">JACINTA.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">There, Ma’am, ’s the book.&emsp;Indeed she is very troublesome.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent40">[<i>Aside.</i></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE&emsp;[<i>astonished</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What didst thou say, Jacinta? Have I done aught</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To grieve thee or to vex thee?—I am sorry.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For thou hast served me long, and ever been</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Trustworthy and respectful.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent25">[<i>Resumes her reading.</i></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">JACINTA.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent24">I can’t believe </div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">She has any more jewels—no—no—she gave me all.&emsp;[<i>Aside.</i></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What didst thou say, Jacinta?&emsp;Now I bethink me</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou hast not spoken lately of thy wedding.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">How fares good Ugo?—and when is it to be?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Can I do aught?—is there no farther aid</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou needest, Jacinta?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">JACINTA.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent23">Is there no <i>farther</i> aid!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That’s meant for me. [<i>Aside.</i>] I’m sure, Madam, you need not</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Be always throwing those jewels in my teeth.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Jewels! Jacinta,—now indeed, Jacinta,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I thought not of the jewels.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">JACINTA.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent21">Oh! perhaps not!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But then I might have sworn it. After all,
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">There’s Ugo says the ring is only paste,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For he’s sure the Count Castiglione never</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Would have given a real diamond to such as you;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And at the best I’m certain, Madam, you cannot</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Have use for jewels <i>now</i>. But I might have sworn it.   [<i>Exit.</i></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">[<span class="smcap">Lalage</span> <i>bursts into tears, and leans her head upon the</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent5"><i>table—after a short pause raises it</i>.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Poor Lalage!—and is it come to this?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy servant maid!—but courage!—’tis but a viper</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent29">[<i>Taking up the mirror.</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ha! here at least’s a friend—too much a friend</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In earlier days—a friend will not deceive thee.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fair mirror and true! now tell me (for thou canst)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A tale—a pretty tale—and heed thou not</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Though it be rife with woe. It answers me.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And Beauty long deceased—remembers me</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of Joy departed—Hope, the Seraph Hope,
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Inurned and entombed!—now, in a tone</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Whispers of early grave untimely yawning</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true!—thou liest not!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0"><i>Thou</i> hast no end to gain—no heart to break—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Castiglione lied who said he loved——</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou true—he false!—false!—false!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">[<i>While she speaks, a</i> <span class="smcap">Monk</span> <i>enters her apartment,</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent6"><i>and approaches unobserved</i>.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">MONK.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent28">Refuge thou hast,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Sweet daughter! in Heaven. Think of eternal things;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE&emsp;[<i>arising hurriedly</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I <i>cannot</i> pray!—My soul is at war with God!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The frightful sounds of merriment below</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Disturb my senses—go! I cannot pray—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The sweet airs from the garden worry me!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy presence grieves me—go!—thy priestly raiment</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fills me with dread—thy ebony crucifix
+                        <span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With horror and awe!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="POLITIAN_4" src="images/i_170.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="543" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">MONK.
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">Think of thy precious soul!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Think of my early days!—think of my father</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And mother in heaven! think of our quiet home,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the rivulet that ran before the door!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Think of my little sisters!—think of them!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And think of me!—think of my trusting love</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And confidence—his vows—my ruin—think—think</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of my unspeakable misery!—begone!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Yet stay! yet stay!—what was it thou saidst of prayer</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And penitence? Didst thou not speak of faith</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And vows before the Throne?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">MONK.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">I did.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent30">’Tis well.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">There <i>is</i> a vow were fitting should be made—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A sacred vow, imperative, and urgent,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A solemn vow!
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">MONK.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent11">Daughter, this zeal is well!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Father, this zeal is anything but well!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A crucifix whereon to register</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">This sacred vow?</div>
+     </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent18">[<i>He hands her his own.</i></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent12">Not that—Oh! no!—no!—no!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent18">[<i>Shuddering.</i></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not that! Not that!—I tell thee, holy man,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Stand back! I have a crucifix myself,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0"><i>I</i> have a crucifix! Methinks ’twere fitting</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The deed—the vow—the symbol of the deed—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the deed’s register should tally, father!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent7">[<i>Draws a cross-handled dagger, and raises it on high.</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Behold the cross wherewith a vow like mine</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is written in heaven!
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">MONK.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent19">Thy words are madness, daughter,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And speak a purpose unholy—thy lips are livid—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thine eyes are wild—tempt not the wrath divine!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Pause ere too late!—oh be not—be not rash!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Swear not the oath—oh swear it not!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">’Tis sworn!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_175.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="133" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="POLITIAN_5" src="images/i_176.jpg" alt="" width="450" height="562" >
+</div>
+
+<p class="f120"><b>III.</b></p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>An Apartment in a Palace.</i> <span class="smcap">Politian</span>
+<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Baldazzar</span>.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">Arouse thee now, Politian!
+                      <span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou must not—nay indeed, indeed, thou shalt not</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Give way unto these humours. Be thyself!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Shake off the idle fancies that beset thee,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And live, for now thou diest!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Not so, Baldazzar!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent5"><i>Surely</i> I live.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">Politian, it doth grieve me</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To see thee thus.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent18">Baldazzar, it doth grieve me</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To give thee cause for grief, my honoured friend.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Command me, Sir! what wouldst thou have me do?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">At thy behest I will shake off that nature</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Which from my forefathers I did inherit,
+                        <span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Which with my mother’s milk I did imbibe,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And be no more Politian, but some other.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Command me, Sir!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent13">To the field then—to the field—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To the senate or the field.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent23">Alas! alas!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">There is an imp would follow me even there!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">There is an imp <i>hath</i> followed me even there!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">There is——what voice was that?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent26">I heard it not.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I heard not any voice except thine own,
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the echo of thine own.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent15">Then I but dreamed.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Give not thy soul to dreams: the camp—the court</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Befit thee—Fame awaits thee—Glory calls—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And her the trumpet-tongued thou wilt not hear</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In hearkening to imaginary sounds</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And phantom voices.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent17">It <i>is</i> a phantom voice!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Didst thou not hear it <i>then</i>?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">I heard it not.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou heardst it not!——Baldazzar, speak no more</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To me, Politian, of thy camps and courts.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Oh! I am sick, sick, sick, even unto death,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of the hollow and high-sounding vanities</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of the populous Earth! Bear with me yet awhile!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">We have been boys together—school-fellows—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And now are friends—yet shall not be so long—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For in the eternal city thou shalt do me</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A kind and gentle office, and a Power—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A Power august, benignant and supreme—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Shall then absolve thee of all farther duties</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Unto thy friend.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent15">Thou speakest a fearful riddle;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I <i>will</i> not understand.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent21">Yet now as Fate</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Approaches, and the Hours are breathing low,
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The sands of Time are changed to golden grains,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And dazzle me, Baldazzar. Alas! alas!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I <i>cannot</i> die, having within my heart</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So keen a relish for the beautiful</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As hath been kindled within it. Methinks the air</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is balmier now than it was wont to be—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Rich melodies are floating in the winds—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A rarer loveliness bedecks the earth—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And with a holier lustre the quiet moon</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Sitteth in heaven.—Hist! hist! thou canst not say</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou hearest not <i>now</i>, Baldazzar?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent22">Indeed I hear not.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not hear it!—listen now—listen!—the faintest sound,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And yet the sweetest that ear ever heard!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A lady’s voice!—and sorrow in the tone!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Baldazzar, it oppresses me like a spell!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Again!—again!—how solemnly it falls</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Into my heart of hearts! that eloquent voice</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Surely I never heard—yet it were well
+                      <span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Had I <i>but</i> heard it with its thrilling tones</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In earlier days!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="POLITIAN_6" src="images/i_184.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="626" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent15">I myself hear it now.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Be still!—the voice, if I mistake not greatly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Proceeds from yonder lattice—which you may see</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Very plainly through the window—it belongs,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Does it not? unto this palace of the Duke.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The singer is undoubtedly beneath</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The roof of his Excellency—and perhaps</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is even that Alessandra of whom he spoke</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As the betrothed of Castiglione,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">His son and heir.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent9">Be still!—it comes again!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent13"><i>Voice</i> [<i>very faintly</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">“And is thy heart so strong</div>
+      <div class="verse indent11">As for to leave me thus,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent11">Who hath loved thee so long,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent11">In wealth and woe among?
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent11">And is thy heart so strong</div>
+      <div class="verse indent11">As for to leave me thus?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Say nay—say nay!”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The song is English, and I oft have heard it</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In merry England—never so plaintively—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Hist! hist! it comes again!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent13"><i>Voice</i> [<i>more loudly</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">“Is it so strong</div>
+      <div class="verse indent11">As for to leave me thus,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent11">Who hath loved thee so long,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent11">In wealth and woe among?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent11">And is thy heart so strong</div>
+      <div class="verse indent11">As for to leave me thus?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Say nay—say nay!”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">’Tis hushed, and all is still!
+              <span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent15">All <i>is not</i> still.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent22">Let us go down.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent28">Go down, Baldazzar, go!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The hour is growing late—the Duke awaits us,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy presence is expected in the hall</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Below. What ails thee, Earl Politian?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent13"><i>Voice</i> [<i>distinctly</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">“Who hath loved thee so long,
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent11">In wealth and woe among,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent11">And is thy heart so strong?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Say nay—say nay!”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Let us descend!—’tis time. Politian, give</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">These fancies to the wind. Remember, pray,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Your bearing lately savoured much of rudeness</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Unto the Duke. Arouse thee! and remember!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Remember?&emsp;I do. Lead on! I <i>do</i> remember.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent39">[<i>Going.</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Let us descend. Believe me, I would give,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Freely would give, the broad lands of my earldom</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To look upon the face hidden by yon lattice—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“To gaze upon that veiled face, and hear</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Once more that silent tongue.”
+               <span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent26">Let me beg you, sir,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Descend with me—the Duke may be offended.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Let us go down, I pray you.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent13"><i>Voice</i> [<i>loudly</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">“Say nay!—say nay!”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN&emsp;[<i>aside</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">’Tis strange!—’tis very strange—methought the voice</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Chimed in with my desires and bade me stay!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent28">[<i>Approaching the window.</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Sweet voice! I heed thee, and will surely stay.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Now be this Fancy, by Heaven, or be it Fate,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Still will I not descend. Baldazzar, make</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Apology unto the Duke for me;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I go not down to-night.
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent18">Your lordship’s pleasure</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Shall be attended to. Good night, Politian.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Good night, my friend, good night.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_192.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="99" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="POLITIAN_7" src="images/i_195.jpg" alt="" width="450" height="583" >
+</div>
+
+<p class="f120"><b>IV.</b></p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>The Gardens of a Palace—Moonlight.</i><br>
+ <span class="smcap">Lalage</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Politian</span>.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And dost thou speak of love</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To <i>me</i>, Politian?—dost thou speak of love
+                     <span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To Lalage?—ah woe—ah woe is me!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">This mockery is most cruel—most cruel indeed!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Weep not! oh, sob not thus!—thy bitter tears</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Will madden me. Oh mourn not, Lalage—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Be comforted! I know—I know it all,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And <i>still</i> I speak of love. Look at me, brightest,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And beautiful Lalage!—turn here thine eyes!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou askest me if I could speak of love,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Knowing what I know, and seeing what I have seen.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou askest me that—and thus I answer thee—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thus on my bended knee I answer thee.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent35">[<i>Kneeling.</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Sweet Lalage, <i>I love thee—love thee—love thee</i>;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thro’ good and ill—thro’ weal and woe I <i>love thee</i>.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not mother, with her first-born on her knee,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thrills with intenser love than I for thee.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not on God’s altar, in any time or clime,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Burned there a holier fire than burneth now</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Within my spirit for <i>thee</i>. And do I love?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent35">[<i>Arising.</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Even for thy woes I love thee—even for thy woes—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy beauty and thy woes.</div>
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent23">Alas, proud Earl,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou dost forget thyself, remembering me!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">How, in thy father’s halls, among the maidens</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Pure and reproachless of thy princely line,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Could the dishonoured Lalage abide?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy wife, and with a tainted memory—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My seared and blighted name, how would it tally</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With the ancestral honours of thy house,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And with thy glory?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent15">Speak not to me of glory!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I hate—I loathe the name; I do abhor</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The unsatisfactory and ideal thing.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Art thou not Lalage, and I Politian?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Do I not love—art thou not beautiful—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What need we more? Ha! glory!—now speak not of it.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">By all I hold most sacred and most solemn—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">By all my wishes now—my fears hereafter—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">By all I scorn on earth and hope in heaven—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">There is no deed I would more glory in,
+                       <span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Than in thy cause to scoff at this same glory</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And trample it under foot. What matters it—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What matters it, my fairest, and my best,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That we go down unhonoured and forgotten</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Into the dust—so we descend together.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Descend together—and then—and then perchance——</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Why dost thou pause, Politian?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent22">And then perchance</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0"><i>Arise</i> together, Lalage, and roam</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The starry and quiet dwellings of the blest,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And still——</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">Why dost thou pause, Politian?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And still <i>together—together</i>.
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent25">Now, Earl of Leicester!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou <i>lovest</i> me, and in my heart of hearts</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I feel thou lovest me truly.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Oh, Lalage!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent9">[<i>Throwing himself upon his knee.</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And lovest thou <i>me</i>?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent17">Hist! hush! within the gloom</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of yonder trees methought a figure pass’d—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A spectral figure, solemn, and slow, and noiseless—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Like the grim shadow Conscience, solemn and noiseless.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent30">[<i>Walks across and returns.</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I was mistaken—’twas but a giant bough</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Stirred by the autumn wind, Politian!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My Lalage—my love! why art thou moved?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Why dost thou turn so pale? Not Conscience’ self,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Far less a shadow which thou likenest to it,
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Should shake the firm spirit thus. But the night wind</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is chilly—and these melancholy boughs</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Throw over all things a gloom.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="POLITIAN_8" src="images/i_200.jpg" alt="" width="450" height="563" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent24">Politian!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou speakest to me of love. Knowest thou the land</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With which all tongues are busy—a land new found—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Miraculously found by one of Genoa—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A thousand leagues within the golden west?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A fairy-land of flowers, and fruit, and sunshine,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And crystal lakes, and over-arching forests,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And mountains, around whose towering summits the winds</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of Heaven untrammelled flow—which air to breathe</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is Happiness now, and will be Freedom hereafter</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In days that are to come?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">O, wilt thou—wilt thou</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fly to that Paradise—my Lalage, wilt thou</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fly thither with me? There Care shall be forgotten,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And Sorrow shall be no more, and Eros be all.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And life shall then be mine, for I will live</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For thee, and in thine eyes—and thou shalt be</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">No more a mourner—but the radiant Joys</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Shall wait upon thee, and the angel Hope
+               <span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Attend thee ever; and I will kneel to thee</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And worship thee, and call thee my beloved,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My own, my beautiful, my love, my wife,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My all;—oh, wilt thou—wilt thou, Lalage,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fly thither with me?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12">A deed is to be done—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Castiglione lives!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">And he shall die!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent30">[<i>Exit.</i></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">LALAGE&emsp;[<i>after a pause</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And—he—shall—die!——alas!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Castiglione die? Who spoke the words?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Where am I?—what was it he said?—Politian!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou <i>art</i> not gone—thou art not <i>gone</i>, Politian!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I <i>feel</i> thou art not gone—yet dare not look,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Lest I behold thee not; thou <i>couldst</i> not go</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With those words upon thy lips—O, speak to me!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And let me hear thy voice—one word—one word,
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To say thou art not gone,—one little sentence,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To say how thou dost scorn—how thou dost hate</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My womanly weakness. Ha! ha! thou <i>art</i> not gone—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O speak to me! I <i>knew</i> thou wouldst not go!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I knew thou wouldst not, couldst not, <i>durst</i> not go.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Villain, thou <i>art</i> not gone—thou mockest me!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And thus I clutch thee—thus!——He is gone, he is gone—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Gone—gone. Where am I?——’tis well—’tis very well!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So that the blade be keen—the blow be sure,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">’Tis well, ’tis <i>very</i> well—alas! alas!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_205.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="144" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="POLITIAN_9" src="images/i_206.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="537" >
+</div>
+
+<p class="f120"><b>V.</b></p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>The Suburbs.</i> <span class="smcap">Politian</span> <i>alone</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">This weakness grows upon me. I am faint,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And much I fear me ill—it will not do
+                     <span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To die ere I have lived!—Stay—stay thy hand,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O Azrael, yet awhile!—Prince of the Powers</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of Darkness and the Tomb, O pity me!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O pity me! let me not perish now,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In the budding of my Paradisal Hope!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Give me to live yet—yet a little while:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">’Tis I who pray for life—I who so late</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Demanded but to die!—what sayeth the Count?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent15"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Baldazzar</span>.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That, knowing no cause of quarrel or of feud</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Between the Earl Politian and himself,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">He doth decline your cartel.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent26"><i>What</i> didst thou say?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What answer was it you brought me, good Baldazzar?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With what excessive fragrance the zephyr comes</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Laden from yonder bowers!—a fairer day,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Or one more worthy Italy, methinks</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">No mortal eyes have seen!—<i>what</i> said the Count?</div>
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span>    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That he, Castiglione, not being aware</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of any feud existing, or any cause</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of quarrel between your lordship and himself,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Cannot accept the challenge.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">It is most true—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">All this is very true. When saw you, Sir,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">When saw you now, Baldazzar, in the frigid</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ungenial Britain which we left so lately,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A heaven so calm as this—so utterly free</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From the evil taint of clouds?—and he did <i>say</i>?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">No more, my Lord, than I have told you, Sir</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The Count Castiglione will not fight,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Having no cause for quarrel.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Now this is true—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">All very true. Thou art my friend, Baldazzar,
+                       <span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And I have not forgotten it—thou’lt do me</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A piece of service; wilt thou go back and say</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Unto this man, that I, the Earl of Leicester,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Hold him a villain?—thus much, I pr’ythee, say</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Unto the Count—it is exceeding just</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">He should have cause for quarrel.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My lord!—my friend!——</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN&emsp;[<i>aside</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">’Tis he—he comes himself! [<i>aloud</i>] thou reasonest well.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I know what thou wouldst say—not send the message—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Well!—I will think of it—I will not send it.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Now pr’ythee, leave me—hither doth come a person</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With whom affairs of a most private nature</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I would adjust.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">BALDAZZAR.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent14">I go—to-morrow we meet,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Do we not?—at the Vatican.
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent15">At the Vatican.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent22">[<i>Exit</i> <span class="smcap">Baldazzar</span>.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Castiglione</span>.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The Earl of Leicester here!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I <i>am</i> the Earl of Leicester, and thou seest,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Dost thou not? that I am here.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent21">My Lord, some strange,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Some singular mistake—misunderstanding—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Hath without doubt arisen: thou hast been urged</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thereby, in heat of anger, to address</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Some words most unaccountable, in writing,
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To me, Castiglione; the bearer being</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Baldazzar, Duke of Surrey. I am aware</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of nothing which might warrant thee in this thing,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Having given thee no offence. Ha!—am I right?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">’Twas a mistake?—undoubtedly—we all</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Do err at times.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent13">Draw, villain, and prate no more!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ha!—draw?—and villain? have at thee then at once,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Proud Earl!<span class="ws12">[<i>Draws.</i></span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN&emsp;[<i>drawing</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">Thus to the expiatory tomb,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Untimely sepulchre, I do devote thee</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In the name of Lalage!
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">CASTIGLIONE [<i>letting fall his sword and recoiling to the</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent14"><i>extremity of the stage</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent25">Of Lalage!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Hold off—thy sacred hand!—avaunt, I say!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Avaunt—I will not fight thee—indeed I dare not.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou wilt not fight with me didst say, Sir Count?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Shall I be baffled thus?—now this is well;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Didst say thou <i>darest</i> not? Ha!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">I dare not—dare not—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Hold off thy hand—with that beloved name</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So fresh upon thy lips I will not fight thee—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I cannot—dare not.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent18">Now by my halidom</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I do believe thee!—coward, I do believe thee!
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ha!—coward!—this may not be!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">[<i>Clutches his sword, and staggers towards</i> <span class="smcap">Politian</span>,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent5"><i>but his purpose is changed before reaching him,</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent5"><i>and he falls upon his knee at the feet of the</i> Earl.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent26">Alas! my Lord,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It is—it is—most true. In such a cause</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I am the veriest coward. O pity me!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN&emsp;[<i>greatly softened</i>].</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Alas!—I do—indeed I pity thee.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And Lalage——</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent12"><i>Scoundrel!—arise and die!</i>
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It needeth not be—thus—thus—O let me die</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thus on my bended knee. It were most fitting</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That in this deep humiliation I perish.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For in the fight I will not raise a hand</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Against thee, Earl of Leicester. Strike thou home—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent27">[<i>Baring his bosom.</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Here is no let or hindrance to thy weapon—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Strike home. I <i>will not</i> fight thee.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">POLITIAN.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">Now s’Death and Hell!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Am I not—am I not sorely—grievously tempted</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To take thee at thy word? But mark me, Sir,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Think not to fly me thus. Do thou prepare</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For public insult in the streets—before</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The eyes of the citizens. I’ll follow thee—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Like an avenging spirit I’ll follow thee</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Even unto death. Before those whom thou lovest—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Before all Rome I’ll taunt thee, villain,—I’ll taunt thee,
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Dost hear? with <i>cowardice</i>—thou <i>wilt not</i> fight me?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou liest! thou <i>shalt</i>!<span class="ws10">[<i>Exit.</i></span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent6">CASTIGLIONE.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent20">Now this indeed is just!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Most righteous, and most just, avenging Heaven!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_217.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="244" >
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span></p>
+  <h2 class="nobreak">POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>Private reasons—some of which have reference to the sin of plagiarism,
+and others to the date of Tennyson’s first poems—have induced me,
+after some hesitation, to republish these, the crude compositions of my
+earliest boyhood. They are printed <i>verbatim</i>—without alteration
+from the original edition—the date of which is too remote to be
+judiciously acknowledged.</p>
+
+<p class="author fs_110">E. A. P.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="AL_AARAAF_1" src="images/i_223.jpg" alt="" width="450" height="555" >
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p>
+
+<h3>AL AARAAF.&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_2_2" href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></h3>
+<h4>PART I.</h4>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">O! nothing earthly save the ray</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty’s eye,
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As in those gardens where the day</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Springs from the gems of Circassy—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O! nothing earthly save the thrill</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of melody in woodland rill—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Or (music of the passion-hearted)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Joy’s voice so peacefully departed</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That, like the murmur in the shell,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Its echo dwelleth and will dwell—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Oh, nothing of the dross of ours—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Yet all the beauty—all the flowers</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That list our Love, and deck our bowers—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Adorn yon world afar, afar—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The wandering star.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent2">’Twas a sweet time for Nesace—for there</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Her world lay lolling on the golden air,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Near four bright suns—a temporary rest—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">An oasis in desert of the blest.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Away—away—’mid seas of rays that roll</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Empyrean splendour o’er th’ unchained soul—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The soul that scares (the billows are so dense)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Can struggle to its destined eminence—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And late to ours, the favoured one of God—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But, now, the ruler of an anchored realm,
+               <span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">She throws aside the sceptre—leaves the helm,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent2">Now happiest, loveliest in yon lovely Earth,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Whence sprang the “Idea of Beauty” into birth,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(Falling in wreaths thro’ many a startled star,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Like woman’s hair ’mid pearls, until, afar,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">She looked into Infinity—and knelt.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Rich clouds, for canopies, about her curled—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fit emblems of the model of her world—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Seen but in beauty—not impeding sight</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of other beauty glittering thro’ the light—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A wreath that twined each starry form around,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And all the opaled air in colour bound.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent2">All hurriedly she knelt upon a bed</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of flowers: of lilies such as reared the head</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On the fair Capo Deucato,&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_3_3" href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>
+                                 and sprang</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So eagerly around about to hang</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Upon the flying footsteps of——deep pride—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of her&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_4_4" href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>
+                                 who loved a mortal—and so died.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The Sephalica, budding with young bees,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Upreared its purple stem around her knees:
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And gemmy flower,&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_5_5" href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a>
+                                 of Trebizond misnamed—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Inmate of highest stars, where erst it shamed</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">All other loveliness: its honied dew</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(The fabled nectar that the heathen knew),</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="AL_AARAAF_2" src="images/i_226.jpg" alt="" width="450" height="589" >
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Deliriously sweet, was dropp’d from heaven,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And fell on gardens of the unforgiven</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In Trebizond—and on a sunny flower</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So like its own above that, to this hour,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It still remaineth, torturing the bee</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With madness, and unwonted reverie:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In heaven, and all its environs, the leaf</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And blossom of the fairy plant, in grief</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Disconsolate linger—grief that hangs her head,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Repenting follies that full long have fled,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Heaving her white breast to the balmy air,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Like guilty beauty, chastened, and more fair:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Nyctanthes too, as sacred as the light</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">She fears to perfume, perfuming the night:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And Clytia&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_6_6" href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a>
+                                 pondering between many a sun,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">While pettish tears adown her petals run:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And that aspiring flower&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_7_7" href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>
+                                 that sprang on Earth—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And died, ere scarce exalted into birth,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Bursting its odorous heart in spirit to wing</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Its way to heaven, from garden of a king:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And Valisnerian lotus&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_8_8" href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a>
+                                 thither flown</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From struggling with the waters of the Rhone:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And thy most lovely purple perfume,&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_9_9" href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a>
+                                 Zante!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Isola d’oro!—Fior di Levante!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the Nelumbo bud that floats for ever;
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With Indian Cupid&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_10_10" href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a>
+                                 down the holy river—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fair flowers, and fairy! to whose care is given</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To bear&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_11_11" href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a>
+                                 the Goddess’ song, in odours, up to heaven:</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_230.jpg" width="70" height="110" alt="S" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="allsmcap">pirit</span>! that dwellest where,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">In the deep sky,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">The terrible and fair</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">In beauty vie!</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Beyond the line of blue—</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">The boundary of the star</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Which turneth at the view</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Of thy barrier and thy bar—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Of the barrier overgone</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">By the comets who were cast</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">From their pride, and from their throne</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">To be drudges till the last—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">To be carriers of fire</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">(The red fire of their heart)</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">With speed that may not tire</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">And with pain that shall not part—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Who livest—<i>that</i> we know—</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">In Eternity—we feel—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">But the shadow of whose brow</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">What spirit shall reveal?</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Tho’ the beings whom thy Nesace,
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span>
+      <div class="dpv02">Thy messenger hath known,</div></div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Have dreamed for thy Infinity</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">A model&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_12_12" href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a>
+                                 of their own—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Thy will is done, O God!</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">The star hath ridden high</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Thro’ many a tempest, but she rode</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Beneath thy burning eye;</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">And here, in thought, to thee—</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">In thought that can alone</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Ascend thy empire and so be</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">A partner of thy throne—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">By winged Fantasy,&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_13_13" href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></div>
+      <div class="dpv02">My embassy is given,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Till secrecy shall knowledge be</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">In the environs of Heaven.”</div>
+</div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">She ceased—and buried then her burning cheek</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Abashed, amid the lilies there, to seek</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A shelter from the fervour of His eye;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For the stars trembled at the Deity.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">She stirred not—breathed not—for a voice was there</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">How solemnly pervading the calm air!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A sound of silence on the startled ear</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Which dreamy poets name “the music of the sphere.”</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ours is a world of words: Quiet we call
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Silence”—which is the merest word of all.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">All Nature speaks, and e’en ideal things</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Flap shadowy sounds from visionary wings—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But ah! not so when, thus, in realms on high</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The eternal voice of God is passing by,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the red winds are withering in the sky!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent2">“What tho’ in worlds which sightless&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_14_14" href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a>
+                                  cycles run,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Linked to a little system, and one sun—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Where all my love is folly, and the crowd</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Still think my terrors but the thunder-cloud,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The storm, the earthquake, and the ocean-wrath—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(Ah! will they cross me in my angrier path?)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What tho’ in worlds which own a single sun</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The sands of Time grow dimmer as they run,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Yet thine is my resplendency, so given</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To bear my secrets thro’ the upper heaven.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Leave tenantless thy crystal home, and fly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With all thy train, athwart the moony sky—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Apart—like fire-flies&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_15_15" href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a>
+                                 in Sicilian night,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And wing to other worlds another light!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Divulge the secrets of thy embassy</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To the proud orbs that twinkle—and so be</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To ev’ry heart a barrier and a ban</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Lest the stars totter in the guilt of man!”
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="AL_AARAAF_3" src="images/i_235.jpg" alt="" width="450" height="563" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent2">Up rose the maiden in the yellow night,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The single-mooned eve!—on Earth we plight
+                     <span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Our faith to one love—and one moon adore—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The birth-place of young Beauty had no more.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As sprang that yellow star from downy hours,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Up rose the maiden from her shrine of flowers,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And bent o’er sheeny mountain and dim plain</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Her way—but left not yet her Therasæan&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_16_16" href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a>
+                                 reign.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_236.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="204" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="AL_AARAAF_4" src="images/i_239.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="580" >
+</div>
+
+<h4>PART II.</h4>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">High on a mountain of enamelled head—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Such as the drowsy shepherd on his bed</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of giant pasturage lying at his ease,
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Raising his heavy eyelid, starts and sees</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With many a muttered “hope to be forgiven”</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What time the moon is quadrated in heaven—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of rosy head, that towering far away</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Into the sunlit ether, caught the ray</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of sunken suns at eve—at noon of night,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">While the moon danced with the fair stranger light—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Upreared upon such height arose a pile</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of gorgeous columns on th’ unburthened air,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Flashing from Parian marble that twin smile</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Far down upon the wave that sparkled there,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And nursled the young mountain in its lair.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of molten stars&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_17_17" href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a>
+                                 their pavement, such as fall</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thro’ the ebon air, besilvering the pall</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of their own dissolution, while they die—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Adorning then the dwellings of the sky.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A dome, by linked light from heaven let down,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Sat gently on these columns as a crown—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A window of one circular diamond, there,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Looked out above into the purple air,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And rays from God shot down that meteor chain</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And hallowed all the beauty twice again,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Save when, between th’ Empyrean and that ring,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Some eager spirit flapped his dusky wing.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But on the pillars seraph eyes have seen
+                        <span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The dimness of this world: that greyish green</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That Nature loves the best for Beauty’s grave</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Lurked in each cornice, round each architrave—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And every sculptured cherub thereabout,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That from his marble dwelling peerèd out,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Seemed earthly in the shadow of his niche—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Achaian statues in a world so rich?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Friezes from Tadmor and Persepolis&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_18_18" href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a>—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From Balbec, and the stilly, clear abyss</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of beautiful Gomorrah! O, the wave&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_19_19" href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is now upon thee—but too late to save!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent2">Sound loves to revel in a summer night:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Witness the murmur of the grey twilight</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That stole upon the ear, in Eyraco,&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_20_20" href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of many a wild star-gazer long ago—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That stealeth ever on the ear of him</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Who, musing, gazeth on the distance dim,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And sees the darkness coming as a cloud—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is not its form—its voice—most palpable and loud?&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_21_21" href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent2">But what is this?—it cometh—and it brings</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A music with it—’tis the rush of wings—
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A pause—and then a sweeping, falling strain,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And Nesace is in her halls again.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From the wild energy of wanton haste</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Her cheeks were flushing, and her lips apart;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And zone that clung around her gentle waist</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Had burst beneath the heaving of her heart.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Within the centre of that hall to breathe</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">She paused and panted, Zanthe! all beneath,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The fairy light that kissed her golden hair</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And longed to rest, yet could but sparkle there!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent2">Young flowers were whispering in melody&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_22_22" href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To happy flowers that night—and tree to tree;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fountains were gushing music as they fell</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In many a star-lit grove, or moon-lit dell;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Yet silence came upon material things—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fair flowers, bright waterfalls and angel wings—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And sound alone that from the spirit sprang</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Bore burthen to the charm the maiden sang:</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent4">“’Neath blue-bell or streamer—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Or tufted wild spray</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">That keeps, from the dreamer,
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">The moonbeam away&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_23_23" href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a>—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Bright beings! that ponder,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">With half-closing eyes,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">On the stars, which your wonder</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Hath drawn from the skies,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Till they glance thro’ the shade, and</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Come down to your brow</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Like——eyes of the maiden</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Who calls on you now—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Arise! from your dreaming</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">In violet bowers,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">To duty beseeming</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">These star-litten hours—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">And shake from your tresses</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Encumbered with dew</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The breath of those kisses</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">That cumber them too—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">(O! how, without you, Love!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Could angels be blest?)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Those kisses of true love</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">That lulled ye to rest!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Up!—shake from your wing</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Each hindering thing:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The dew of the night—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">It would weigh down your flight
+               <span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">And true love caresses—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">O! leave them apart!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">They are light on the tresses,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">But lead on the heart.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent4">“Ligeia! Ligeia!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">My beautiful one!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Whose harshest idea</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Will to melody run,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Oh! is it thy will</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">On the breezes to toss?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Or, capriciously still,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Like the lone Albatross,&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_24_24" href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a></div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Incumbent on night</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">(As she on the air)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">To keep watch with delight</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">On the harmony there?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent4">“Ligeia! wherever</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Thy image may be,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">No magic shall sever</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Thy music from thee.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Thou hast bound many eyes
+                       <span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">In a dreamy sleep—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">But the strains still arise</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Which <i>thy</i> vigilance keep—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The sound of the rain</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Which leaps down to the flower,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">And dances again</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">In the rhythm of the shower—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The murmur that springs&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_25_25" href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a></div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">From the growing of grass</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Are the music of things—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">But are modelled, alas!—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Away, then, my dearest,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Oh! hie thee away</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">To springs that lie clearest</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Beneath the moon-ray—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">To lone lake that smiles,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">In its dream of deep rest,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">At the many star-isles</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">That enjewel its breast—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Where wild flowers, creeping,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Have mingled their shade,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">On its margin is sleeping</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Full many a maid—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Some have left the cool glade, and</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Have slept with the bee&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_26_26" href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a>—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Arouse them, my maiden,
+             <span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">On moorland and lea—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Go! breathe on their slumber,
+      <div class="verse indent6">All softly in ear,</div>
+             <span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The musical number</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">They slumbered to hear—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">For what can awaken</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">An angel so soon</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Whose sleep hath been taken</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Beneath the cold moon,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">As the spell which no slumber</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Of witchery may test,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The rhythmical number</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Which lulled him to rest?”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="AL_AARAAF_5" src="images/i_246.jpg" alt="" width="450" height="526" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent4">Spirits in wing, and angels to the view,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">A thousand seraphs burst th’ Empyrean thro’,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Young dreams still hovering on their drowsy flight—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Seraphs in all but “Knowledge,” the keen light</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">That fell, refracted, thro’ thy bounds, afar,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">O Death! from eye of God upon that star:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Sweet was that error—sweeter still that death—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Sweet was that error—e’en with <i>us</i> the breath</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Of Science dims the mirror of our joy—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">To them ’twere the Simoom, and would destroy—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">For what (to them) availeth it to know</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">That Truth is Falsehood—or that Bliss is Woe?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Sweet was their death—with them to die was rife
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">With the last ecstasy of satiate life—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Beyond that death no immortality—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">But sleep that pondereth and is not “to be”—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">And there—oh! may my weary spirit dwell—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Apart from Heaven’s Eternity—and yet how far from Hell!&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_27_27" href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a></div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">What guilty spirit, in what shrubbery dim,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Heard not the stirring summons of that hymn?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">But two: they fell: for Heaven no grace imparts</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">To those who hear not for their beating hearts.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">A maiden-angel and her seraph-lover—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">O! where (and ye may seek the wide skies over)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Was Love, the blind, near sober Duty known?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Unguided Love hath fallen—’mid “tears of perfect moan.”&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_28_28" href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent8">He was a goodly spirit—he who fell:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">A wanderer by mossy-mantled well—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">A gazer on the lights that shine above—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">A dreamer in the moonbeam by his love:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">What wonder? for each star is eye-like there,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">And looks so sweetly down on Beauty’s hair—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">And they and ev’ry mossy spring were holy</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">To his love-haunted heart and melancholy.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">The night had found (to him a night of woe)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Upon a mountain crag, young Angelo—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Beetling it bends athwart the solemn sky,
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">And scowls on starry worlds that down beneath it lie.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Here sat he with his love—his dark eye bent</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">With eagle gaze along the firmament:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Now turned it upon her—but ever then</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">It trembled to the orb of Earth again.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent8">“Ianthe, dearest, see! how dim that ray!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">How lovely ’tis to look so far away!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">She seemed not thus upon that autumn eve</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">I left her gorgeous halls—nor mourned to leave.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">That eve—that eve—I should remember well—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">The sun-ray dropped, in Lemnos, with a spell</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">On th’ arabesque carving of a gilded hall</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Wherein I sat, and on the draperied wall—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">And on my eyelids—O the heavy light!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">How drowsily it weighed them into night!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">On flowers, before, and mist, and love they ran</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">With Persian Saadi in his Gulistan:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">But O that light!—I slumber’d—Death, the while,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Stole o’er my senses in that lovely isle,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">So softly that no single silken hair</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Awoke that slept—or knew that he was there.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="AL_AARAAF_6" src="images/i_252.jpg" alt="" width="450" height="590" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent8">“The last spot of Earth’s orb I trod upon</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Was a proud temple called the Parthenon&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_29_29" href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a>—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">More beauty clung around her column’d wall
+               <span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Than e’en thy glowing bosom beats withal;”&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_30_30" href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a></div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">And when old Time my wing did disenthral,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Thence sprang I—as the eagle from his tower,
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">And years I left behind me in an hour.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">What time upon her airy bounds I hung</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">One half the garden of her globe was flung,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Unrolling as a chart unto my view—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Tenantless cities of the desert too!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Ianthe, beauty crowded on me then,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">And half I wished to be again of men.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent8">“My Angelo! and why of them to be?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">A brighter dwelling-place is here for thee—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">And greener fields than in yon world above,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">And woman’s loveliness—and passionate love.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent8">“But, list, Ianthe! when the air so soft</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Failed, as my pennon’d spirit leapt aloft,&#x2060;<a id="FNanchor_31_31" href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a></div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Perhaps my brain grew dizzy—but the world</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">I left so late was into chaos hurled—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Sprang from her station, on the winds apart,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">And rolled, a flame, the fiery heaven athwart.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Methought, my sweet one, then I ceased to soar,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">And fell—not swiftly as I rose before,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">But with a downward, tremulous motion thro’</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Light, brazen rays, this golden star unto!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Nor long the measure of my falling hours,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">For nearest of all stars was thine to ours—
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Dread star! that came, amid a night of mirth,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">A red Dædalion on the timid Earth.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent8">“We came—and to thy Earth—but not to us</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Be given our lady’s bidding to discuss:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">We came, my love; around, above, below,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Gay fire-fly of the night we come and go,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Nor ask a reason save the angel-nod</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8"><i>She</i> grants to us, as granted by her God—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">But, Angelo, than thine grey Time unfurled</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Never his fairy wing o’er fairier world!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Dim was its little disk, and angel eyes</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Alone could see the phantom in the skies,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">When first Al Aaraaf knew her course to be</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Headlong thitherward o’er the starry sea—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">But when its glory swelled upon the sky,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">As glowing Beauty’s bust beneath man’s eye,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">We paused before the heritage of men,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">And thy star trembled—as doth Beauty then!”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent8">Thus, in discourse, the lovers whiled away</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">The night that waned and waned and brought no day.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">They fell: for Heaven to them no hope imparts</div>
+      <div class="verse indent8">Who hear not for the beating of their hearts.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span></p>
+<h3>SONNET—TO SCIENCE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_257.jpg" width="100" height="171" alt="S" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="allsmcap">cience</span>! true daughter of Old Time thou art!</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Why preyest thou thus upon the poet’s heart,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,</div>
+      <div class="dpv03">Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?</div>
+      <div class="dpv03">And driven the Hamadryad from the wood</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">To seek a shelter in some happier star?</div>
+      <div class="dpv03">Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">The Elfin from the green grass, and from me</div>
+      <div class="dpv03">The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?</div>
+</div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p>
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="RIVER" src="images/i_258.jpg" alt="" width="450" height="536" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>TO THE RIVER ——.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of crystal, wandering water,
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou art an emblem of the glow</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">Of beauty—the unhidden heart—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent6">The playful maziness of art</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">In old Alberto’s daughter;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">But when within thy wave she looks—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Which glistens then, and trembles—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Why, then, the prettiest of brooks</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Her worshipper resembles;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For in his heart, as in thy stream,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Her image deeply lies—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">His heart which trembles at the beam</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of her soul-searching eyes.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_261.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="98" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_262.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="136" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>TAMERLANE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">I.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Kind solace in a dying hour!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Such, father, is not (now) my theme—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I will not madly deem that power</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Of Earth may shrive me of the sin</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Unearthly pride hath revelled in—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">I have no time to dote or dream:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">You call it hope—that fire of fire!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">It is but agony of desire:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">If I <i>can</i> hope—Oh God! I can—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Its fount is holier—more divine—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I would not call thee fool, old man,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">But such is not a gift of thine.
+                      <span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">II.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Know thou the secret of a spirit</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Bowed from its wild pride into shame.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O yearning heart! I did inherit</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Thy withering portion with the fame,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The searing glory which hath shone</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Amid the Jewels of my throne,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Halo of Hell! and with a pain</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not Hell shall make me fear again—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O craving heart, for the lost flowers</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And sunshine of my summer hours!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The undying voice of that dead time,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With its interminable chime,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Rings, in the spirit of a spell,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Upon thy emptiness—a knell.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">III.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I have not always been as now:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The fevered diadem on my brow</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">I claimed and won usurpingly——</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Hath not the same fierce heirdom given</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Rome to the Cæsar—this to me?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The heritage of a kingly mind,
+                      <span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And a proud spirit which hath striven</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Triumphantly with human kind.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">IV.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On mountain soil I first drew life:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The mists of the Taglay have shed</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Nightly their dews upon my head,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And, I believe, the winged strife</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And tumult of the headlong air</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Have nestled in my very hair.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">V.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So late from Heaven—that dew—it fell</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">(’Mid dreams of an unholy night)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Upon me with the touch of Hell,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">While the red flashing of the light</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From clouds that hung, like banners, o’er,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Appeared to my half-closing eye</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The pageantry of monarchy,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the deep trumpet-thunder’s roar</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Came hurriedly upon me, telling</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Of human battle, where my voice—
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My own voice, silly child!—was swelling</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">(O! how my spirit would rejoice,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And leap within me at the cry)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The battle-cry of Victory!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">VI.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The rain came down upon my head</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Unsheltered—and the heavy wind</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Rendered me mad and deaf and blind.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It was but man, I thought, who shed</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Laurels upon me: and the rush—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The torrent of the chilly air</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Gurgled within my ear the crush</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of empires—with the captive’s prayer—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The hum of suitors—and the tone</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of flattery round a sovereign’s throne.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">VII.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My passions, from that hapless hour,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Usurped a tyranny which men</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Have deemed, since I have reached to power,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">My innate nature—be it so:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">But, father, there lived one who, then,
+                   <span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Then—in my boyhood—when their fire</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Burned with a still intenser glow</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(For passion must, with youth, expire),</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">E’en <i>then</i> who knew this iron heart</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">In woman’s weakness had a part.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent9 fs_120">VIII.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I have no words—alas!—to tell</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The loveliness of loving well!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Nor would I now attempt to trace</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The more than beauty of a face</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Whose lineaments, upon my mind,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Are——shadows on th’ unstable wind;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thus I remember having dwelt</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Some page of early lore upon,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With loitering eye, till I have felt</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The letters—with their meaning—melt</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To fantasies—with none.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">IX.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O, she was worthy of all love!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Love as in infancy was mine—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">’Twas such as angel minds above
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Might envy; her young heart the shrine</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On which my every hope and thought</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Were incense—then a goodly gift,
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">For they were childish and upright—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Pure——as her young example taught:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Why did I leave it, and, adrift,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Trust to the fire within, for light?</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="TAMERLANE_1" src="images/i_269.jpg" alt="" width="450" height="542" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">X.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">We grew in age—and love—together—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Roaming the forest, and the wild;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My breast her shield in wintry weather—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And, when the friendly sunshine smiled,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And she would mark the opening skies,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0"><i>I</i> saw no Heaven—but in her eyes.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">XI.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Young Love’s first lesson is——the heart:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">For ’mid that sunshine, and those smiles,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">When, from our little cares apart,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And laughing at her girlish wiles,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I’d throw me on her throbbing breast,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And pour my spirit out in tears—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">There was no need to speak the rest—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">No need to quiet any fears</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of her—who asked no reason why,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But turned on me her quiet eye!
+                        <span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">XII.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Yet <i>more</i> than worthy of the love</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My spirit struggled with, and strove,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">When, on the mountain peak, alone,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ambition lent it a new tone—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I had no being—but in thee:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The world, and all it did contain</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In the earth—the air—the sea—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Its joy—its little lot of pain</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That was new pleasure——the ideal,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Dim, vanities of dreams by night—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And dimmer nothings which were real—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">(Shadows—and a more shadowy light!)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Parted upon their misty wings,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">And so, confusedly, became</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Thine image and—a name—a name!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Two separate—yet most intimate things.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent9 fs_120">XIII.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I was ambitious—have you known</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The passion, father? You have not:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A cottager, I marked a throne</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of half the world as all my own,
+                      <span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And murmured at such lowly lot—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But, just like any other dream,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Upon the vapour of the dew</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My own had past, did not the beam</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of beauty which did while it thro’</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The minute—the hour—the day—oppress</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My mind with double loveliness.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent9 fs_120">XIV.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">We walked together on the crown</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of a high mountain which looked down</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Afar from its proud natural towers</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of rock and forest, on the hills—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The dwindled hills! begirt with bowers</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And shouting with a thousand rills.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">XV.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I spoke to her of power and pride,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">But mystically—is such guise</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That she might deem it nought beside</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The moment’s converse; in her eyes</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I read, perhaps too carelessly—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">A mingled feeling with my own—
+                     <span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The flush on her bright cheek to me</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Seemed to become a queenly throne,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Too well that I should let it be</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Light in the wilderness alone.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="TAMERLANE_2" src="images/i_275.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="589" >
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">XVI.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I wrapped myself in grandeur then,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And donned a visionary crown——</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Yet it was not that Fantasy</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Had thrown her mantle over me—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But that, among the rabble—men,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Lion ambition is chained down—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And crouches to a keeper’s hand—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not so in deserts where the grand—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The wild—the terrible conspire</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With their own breath to fan his fire.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent9 fs_120">XVII.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Look round thee now on Samarcand!—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Is she not queen of Earth? her pride</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Above all cities? in her hand</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Their destinies? in all beside</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of glory which the world hath known</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Stands she not nobly and alone?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Falling—her veriest stepping-stone</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Shall form the pedestal of a throne—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And who her sovereign? Timour—he</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Whom the astonished people saw
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Striding o’er empires haughtily</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">A diademed outlaw!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent9 fs_120">XVIII.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O human love! thou spirit given,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On Earth, of all we hope in Heaven!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Which fall’st into the soul like rain</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Upon the Siroc-withered plain,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And, failing in thy power to bless,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But leav’st the heart a wilderness!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Idea! which bindest life around</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With music of so strange a sound</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And beauty of so wild a birth—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Farewell! for I have won the Earth.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent9 fs_120">XIX.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">When Hope, the eagle that towered, could see</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">No cliff beyond him in the sky,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">His pinions were bent droopingly—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And homeward turned his softened eye.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">’Twas sunset: when the sun will part</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">There comes a sullenness of heart</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To him who still would look upon
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The glory of the summer sun.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That soul will hate the ev’ning mist</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So often lovely, and will list</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To the sound of the coming darkness (known</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To those whose spirits hearken) as one</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Who, in a dream of night, <i>would</i> fly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But <i>cannot</i>, from a danger nigh.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">XX.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What tho’ the moon—the white moon</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Shed all the splendour of her noon,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0"><i>Her</i> smile is chilly—and <i>her</i> beam,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In that time of dreariness, will seem</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(So like you gather in your breath)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A portrait taken after death.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And boyhood is a summer sun</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Whose waning is the dreariest one—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For all we live to know is known,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And all we seek to keep hath flown—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Let life, then, as the day-flower, fall</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With the noon-day beauty—which is all.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent10 fs_120">XXI.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I reached my home—my home no more—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">For all had flown who made it so.
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I passed from out its mossy door,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And, tho’ my tread was soft and low,
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A voice came from the threshold stone</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of one whom I had earlier known—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O, I defy thee, Hell, to show</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On beds of fire that burn below,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">An humbler heart—a deeper woe.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="TAMERLANE_3" src="images/i_281.jpg" alt="" width="450" height="579" >
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent9 fs_120">XXII.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Father, I firmly do believe—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">I <i>know</i>—for Death who comes for me</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">From regions of the blest afar,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Where there is nothing to deceive,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Hath left his iron gate ajar,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And rays of truth you cannot see</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Are flashing thro’ Eternity——</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I do believe that Eblis hath</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A snare in every human path—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Else how, when in the holy grove</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I wandered of the idol, Love,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Who daily scents his snowy wings</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With incense of burnt offerings</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From the most unpolluted things,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Whose pleasant bowers are yet so riven</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Above with trelliced rays from Heaven
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">No mote may shun—no tiniest fly—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The lightning of his eagle eye—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">How was it that Ambition crept,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Unseen, amid the revels there,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Till growing bold, he laughed and leapt</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">In the tangles of Love’s very hair?</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_283.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="98" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="TO_3" src="images/i_284.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="492" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>TO ——.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The wantonest singing birds,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Are lips—and all thy melody</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of lip-begotten words—
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Then desolately fall,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O God! on my funereal mind</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Like starlight on a pall—</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy heart—<i>thy</i> heart!—I wake and sigh,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And sleep to dream till day</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of the truth that gold can never buy—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of the baubles that it may.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_287.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="168" >
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span></p>
+
+<h3>A DREAM.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_288.jpg" width="100" height="212" alt="I" ></div>
+      <div class="verse dpv00"><span class="allsmcap">n</span> visions of the dark night</div>
+      <div class="verse dpv02">I have dreamed of joy departed—</div>
+      <div class="verse dpv00">But a waking dream of life and light</div>
+      <div class="verse dpv02">Hath left me broken-hearted.</div>
+    </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ah! what is not a dream by day</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To him whose eyes are cast</div>
+      <div class="verse indent3">On things around him with a ray</div>
+      <div class="verse indent5">Turned back upon the past?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">That holy dream—that holy dream,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">While all the world were chiding,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Hath cheered me as a lovely beam</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">A lonely spirit guiding.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">What though that light, thro’ storm and night,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">So trembled from afar—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">What could there be more purely bright</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">In Truth’s day-star?</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span></p>
+
+<h3>ROMANCE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_289.jpg" width="100" height="231" alt="R" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="allsmcap">omance</span>, who loves to nod and sing,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">With drowsy head and folded wing,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Among the green leaves as they shake</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Far down within some shadowy lake,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">To me a painted paroquet</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Hath been—a most familiar bird—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Taught me my alphabet to say—</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">To lisp my very earliest word</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">While in the wild wood I did lie,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">A child—with a most knowing eye.</div>
+    </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent4">Of late, eternal Condor years</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">So shake the very heaven on high</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">With tumult as they thunder by,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">I have no time for idle cares</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
+              <span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">And when an hour with calmer wings</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Its down upon my spirit flings—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">That little time with lyre and rhyme</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">To while away—forbidden things!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">My heart would feel to be a crime</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Unless it trembled with the strings.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_290.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="176" >
+    <img src="images/i_291.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="81" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="FAIRY" src="images/i_292.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="476" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>FAIRY-LAND.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Dim vales—and shadowy floods—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And cloudy-looking woods,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Whose forms we can’t discover</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For the tears that drip all over—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Huge moons there wax and wane—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Again—again—again—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Every moment of the night—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For ever changing places—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And they put out the starlight</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With the breath from their pale faces.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">About twelve by the moon-dial</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">One more filmy than the rest
+                       <span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(A kind which, upon trial,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">They have found to be the best)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Comes down—still down—and down</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With its centre on the crown
+                       <span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of a mountain’s eminence,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">While its wide circumference</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In easy drapery falls</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Over hamlets, over halls,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Wherever they may be—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O’er the strange woods—o’er the sea—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Over spirits on the wing—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Over every drowsy thing—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And buries them up quite</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In a labyrinth of light—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And then, how deep!—O, deep!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is the passion of their sleep.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In the morning they arise,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And their moony covering</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Is soaring in the skies,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With the tempests as they toss,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Like——almost any thing—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Or a yellow Albatross.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">They use that moon no more</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For the same end as before—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Videlicet a tent—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Which I think extravagant:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Its atomies, however,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Into a shower dissever,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of which those butterflies,
+                         <span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of Earth, who seek the skies,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And so come down again,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">(Never-contented things!)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Have brought a specimen</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Upon their quivering wings.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_296.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="171" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img id="LAKE" src="images/i_299.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="586" >
+</div>
+
+<h3>THE LAKE.</h3>
+
+<p class="f120"><b>TO ——.</b></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">In spring of youth it was my lot</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To haunt of the wide world a spot
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The which I could not love the less—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So lovely was the loneliness</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the tall pines that towered around.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">But when the Night had thrown her pall</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Upon that spot, as upon all,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the mystic wind went by</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Murmuring in melody—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Then—ah then I would awake</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To the terror of the lone lake.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Yet that terror was not fright,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But a tremulous delight—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A feeling not the jewelled mine</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Could teach or bribe me to define—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Nor Love—although the Love were thine.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Death was in that poisonous wave,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And in its gulf a fitting grave</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For him who thence could solace bring</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To his lone imagining—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Whose solitary soul could make</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">An Eden of that dim lake.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span></p>
+
+<h3>SONG.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_301.jpg" width="100" height="206" alt="I" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="allsmcap">saw</span> thee on thy bridal day—</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">When a burning blush came o’er thee,</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">Though happiness around thee lay,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">The world all love before thee:</div>
+    </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And in thine eye a kindling light</div>
+      <div class="verse indent3">(Whatever it might be)</div>
+      <div class="verse indent7">Was all on Earth my aching sight</div>
+      <div class="verse indent10">Of Loveliness could see.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">As such it well may pass—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">In the breast of him, alas!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Who saw thee on that bridal day,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">When that deep blush <i>would</i> come o’er thee,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Though happiness around thee lay,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The world all love before thee.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span></p>
+
+<h3>TO M. L. S——.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_302.jpg" width="100" height="213" alt="O" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="allsmcap">f</span> all who hail thy presence as the morning—</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">Of all to whom thine absence is the night—</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">The blotting utterly from out high heaven</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">The sacred sun—of all who, weeping, bless thee</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">Hourly for hope—for life—ah! above all,</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">For the resurrection of deep-buried faith</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">In Truth—in Virtue—in Humanity—</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Of all who, on Despair’s unhallowed bed</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">At thy soft-murmured words, “Let there be light!”</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes—</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Of all who owe thee most—whose gratitude</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">Nearest resembles worship—oh, remember</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">The truest—the most fervently devoted,</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">And think that these weak lines are written by him—</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think</div>
+      <div class="dpv02">His spirit is communing with an angel’s.</div>
+    </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_303a.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="160" >
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span></p>
+<h3>TO HELEN.</h3>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+<div class="dpoemlft"><div class="dstanzalft">
+ <div class="dpcapverse"><img class="iglyph-d" src="images/i_303b.jpg" width="100" height="215" alt="H" ></div>
+      <div class="dpv00"><span class="allsmcap">elen</span>, thy beauty is to me</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">Like those Nicéan barks of yore</div>
+      <div class="dpv00">That gently, o’er a perfumed sea,</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">The weary way-worn wanderer bore</div>
+      <div class="dpv01">To his own native shore.</div>
+    </div><!--dstanzalft--></div><!--dpoemlft-->
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">On desperate seas long wont to roam,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent9">Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy Naiad airs have brought me home</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To the glory that was Greece,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the grandeur that was Rome.
+                      <span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Lo, in yon brilliant window-niche</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">How statue-like I see thee stand,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The agate lamp within thy hand!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ah, Psyche, from the regions which</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Are holy-land!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_304.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="160" >
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span></p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span></p>
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak">NOTES TO AL AARAAF.</h2>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span></p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="footnotes">
+<p class="f150"><b>NOTES.</b></p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_1_1" href="#FNanchor_1_1" class="label">[1]</a>
+And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and
+who has the sweetest voice of all God’s
+creatures.—<span class="smcap">Koran.</span></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_2_2" href="#FNanchor_2_2" class="label">[2]</a>
+page 149. <i>Al Aaraaf.</i></p>
+
+<p>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.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_3_3" href="#FNanchor_3_3" class="label">[3]</a>
+P. 151. <i>On the fair Capo Deucato.</i></p>
+
+<p>On Santa Maura—olim Deucadia.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_4_4" href="#FNanchor_4_4" class="label">[4]</a>
+P. 151. <i>Of her who loved a mortal—and so died.</i>}—Sappho.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_5_5" href="#FNanchor_5_5" class="label">[5]</a>
+P. 152. <i>And gemmy flower, of Trebizond misnamed.</i></p>
+
+<p>This flower is much noticed by Leuwenhoek and Tournefort. The bee,
+feeding upon its blossom, becomes intoxicated.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_6_6" href="#FNanchor_6_6" class="label">[6]</a>
+P. 153. <i>And Clytia pondering between many a sun.</i></p>
+
+<p>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.—<i>B. de St. Pierre.</i></p></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span></p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_7_7" href="#FNanchor_7_7" class="label">[7]</a>
+P. 153. <i>And that aspiring flower that sprang on Earth.</i></p>
+
+<p>There is cultivated in the king’s garden at Paris, a species of
+serpentine aloes without prickles, whose large and beautiful flower
+exhales a strong odour 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.—<i>St. Pierre.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_8_8" href="#FNanchor_8_8" class="label">[8]</a>
+P. 153. <i>And Valisnerian lotus thither flown.</i></p>
+
+<p>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.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_9_9" href="#FNanchor_9_9" class="label">[9]</a>
+P. 153. <i>And thy most lovely purple perfume, Zante!</i>}—The Hyacinth.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_10_10" href="#FNanchor_10_10" class="label">[10]</a>
+P. 154.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0"><i>And the Nelumbo bud that floats for ever;</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent1"><i>With Indian Cupid down the holy river.</i></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_11_11" href="#FNanchor_11_11" class="label">[11]</a>
+P. 154. <i>To bear the Goddess’ song, in odours, up to heaven.</i></p>
+
+<p>And golden vials full of odours which are the prayers of the
+saints.—<i>Rev. St. John.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_12_12" href="#FNanchor_12_12" class="label">[12]</a>
+P. 155. <i>A model of their own.</i></p>
+
+<p>The Humanitarians held that God was to be understood as having really a
+human form.—<i>Vide</i> <i>Clarke’s Sermons</i>, vol. i. page 26, fol.
+edit.</p>
+
+<p>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.—<i>Dr. Sumner’s Notes on Milton’s Christian Doctrine.</i></p>
+
+<p>This opinion, in spite of many testimonies to the contrary, could never
+have been very general. Andeus, a Syrian of Mesopotamia, was condemned
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span>
+for the opinion, as heretical. He lived in the beginning of the fourth
+century. His disciples were called Anthropomorphites.—<i>Vide Du Pin.</i></p>
+
+<p>Among Milton’s minor poems are these lines:—</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Dicite sacrorum præsides nemorum Deæ, &amp;c.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Quis ille primus cujus ex imagine</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Natura solers finxit humanum genus?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Eternus, incorruptus, æquævus polo,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Unusque et universus exemplar Dei.”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>And afterwards,—</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Non cui profundum Cæcitas lumen dedit</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Dircæus augur vidit hunc alto sinu,” &amp;c.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_13_13" href="#FNanchor_13_13" class="label">[13]</a>
+P. 155. <i>By winged Fantasy.</i></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Seltsamen Tochter Jovis</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Seinem Schosskinde</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Der Phantasie.—<i>Göthe.</i></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_14_14" href="#FNanchor_14_14" class="label">[14]</a>
+P. 156. <i>What tho’ in worlds which sightless cycles run.</i></p>
+
+<p>Sightless—too small to be seen.—<i>Legge.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_15_15" href="#FNanchor_15_15" class="label">[15]</a>
+P. 156. <i>Apart—like fire-flies in Sicilian night.</i></p>
+
+<p>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.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_16_16" href="#FNanchor_16_16" class="label">[16]</a>
+P. 158. <i>Her way—but left not yet her Therasæan reign.</i></p>
+
+<p>Therassea, or Therasea, the island mentioned by Seneca, which, in a
+moment, arose from the sea to the eyes of astonished mariners.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_17_17" href="#FNanchor_17_17" class="label">[17]</a>
+P. 160.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0"><i>Of molten stars their pavement, such as fall</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0"><i>Thro’ the ebon air.</i></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Some star which, from the ruin’d roof</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of shaked Olympus, by mischance, did fall.—<i>Milton.</i></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span></p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_18_18" href="#FNanchor_18_18" class="label">[18]</a>
+P. 161. <i>Friezes from Tadmor and Persepolis.</i></p>
+
+<p>Voltaire, in speaking of Persepolis, says, “Je connois bien
+l’admiration qu’inspirent ces ruines—mais un palais érigé au pied
+d’une chaine des rochers sterils—peut-il être un chef-d’œuvre des arts?”</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_19_19" href="#FNanchor_19_19" class="label">[19]</a>
+ P. 161. <i>Of beautiful Gomorrah! O, the wave.</i></p>
+
+<p>“Oh! the wave”—Ula Deguisi is the Turkish appellation; but, on its own
+shores, it is called Bahar Loth, or Almotanah. There were undoubtedly
+more than two cities engulfed 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 (engulfed)—but the last
+is out of all reason.</p>
+
+<p>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, &amp;c. are seen above the surface. At
+<i>any</i> season, such remains may be discovered by looking down
+into the transparent lake, and at such distances as would argue
+the existence of many settlements in the space now usurped by the
+“Asphaltites.”</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_20_20" href="#FNanchor_20_20" class="label">[20]</a>
+P. 161. <i>That stole upon the ear, in Eyraco.</i>}—Eyraco—Chaldæa.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_21_21" href="#FNanchor_21_21" class="label">[21]</a>
+P. 161. <i>Is not its form—its voice—most palpable and loud?</i></p>
+
+<p>I have often thought I could distinctly hear the sound of the darkness
+as it stole over the horizon.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_22_22" href="#FNanchor_22_22" class="label">[22]</a>
+P. 162. <i>Young flowers were whispering in melody.</i></p>
+
+<p>Fairies use flowers for their charactery.—<i>Merry Wives of Windsor.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_23_23" href="#FNanchor_23_23" class="label">[23]</a>
+P. 163. <i>The moonbeam away.</i></p>
+
+<p>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 circumstance the passage
+evidently alludes.</p></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span></p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_24_24" href="#FNanchor_24_24" class="label">[24]</a>
+P. 164. <i>Like the lone Albatross.</i></p>
+
+<p>The Albatross is said to sleep on the wing.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_25_25" href="#FNanchor_25_25" class="label">[25]</a>
+PP. 165. <i>The murmur that springs.</i></p>
+
+<p>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.”</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_26_26" href="#FNanchor_26_26" class="label">[26]</a>
+P. 165. <i>Have slept with the bee.</i></p>
+
+<p>The wild bee will not sleep in the shade if there be moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>The rhyme in this 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:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">O! were there an island,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Tho’ ever so wild,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Where woman might smile, and</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">No man be beguiled, &amp;c.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_27_27" href="#FNanchor_27_27" class="label">[27]</a>
+P. 168. <i>Apart from Heaven’s Eternity—and yet how far from Hell!</i></p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Un no rompido sueno—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Un dia puro—allegre—libre</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Quiera—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Libre de amor—de zelo—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">De odio—de esperanza—de rezelo.—<i>Luis Ponce de Leon.</i></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span></p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_28_28" href="#FNanchor_28_28" class="label">[28]</a>
+P. 168. <i>Unguided Love hath fallen—’mid “tears of perfect moan.”</i></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">There be tears of perfect moan</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Wept for thee in Helicon.—<i>Milton.</i></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_29_29" href="#FNanchor_29_29" class="label">[29]</a>
+P. 169. <i>Was a proud temple called the Parthenon.</i></p>
+
+<p>It was entire in 1687—the most elevated spot in Athens.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_30_30" href="#FNanchor_30_30" class="label">[30]</a>
+P. 170. <i>Than e’en thy glowing bosom beats withal.</i></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Than have the white breasts of the Queen of Love.—<i>Marlowe.</i></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p class="no-indent">
+<a id="Footnote_31_31" href="#FNanchor_31_31" class="label">[31]</a>
+P. 171. <i>Failed, as my pennoned spirit leapt aloft.</i></p>
+
+<p>Pennon—for pinion.—<i>Milton.</i></p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span></p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span></p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span></p>
+  <h2 class="nobreak">THE POETIC PRINCIPLE.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_315.jpg" width="100" height="271" alt="I">
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap no-indent"><span class="smcap">In</span> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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 pre-judgment 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.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span></p>
+
+<p>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 <i>were</i> popular in reality—which I doubt—it is at least
+clear that no very long poem will ever be popular again.</p>
+
+<p>That the extent of a poetical work is, <i>cœteris paribus</i>, 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 <i>size</i>,
+abstractly considered—there can be nothing in mere <i>bulk</i>, 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,
+<i>does</i> impress us with a sense of the sublime—but no man is
+impressed after <i>this</i> fashion by the material grandeur of even
+“The Columbiad.” Even the Quarterlies have not instructed us to be so
+impressed by it. <i>As yet</i>, they have not <i>insisted</i> on our
+estimating Lamartine by the cubic foot, or Pollok by the pound—but
+what else are we to <i>infer</i> 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 that common sense, in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>On the other hand, it is clear that a poem may be improperly brief.
+Undue brevity degenerates into mere epigrammatism. A <i>very</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">I arise from dreams of thee</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">In the first sweet sleep of night,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">When the winds are breathing low,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And the stars are shining bright.
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I arise from dreams of thee,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And a spirit in my feet</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Has led me—who knows how?—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To thy chamber-window, sweet!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">The wandering airs they faint</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">On the dark, the silent stream—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The champak odours fail</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Like sweet thoughts in a dream;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The nightingale’s complaint,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">It dies upon her heart,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As I must die on thine,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">O, beloved as thou art!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">O, lift me from the grass!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">I die, I faint, I fail!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Let thy love in kisses rain</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">On my lips and eyelids pale.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">My cheek is cold and white, alas!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">My heart beats loud and fast:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Oh! press it close to thine again,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Where it will break at last!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span>
+brevity, been kept back from its proper position, not less in the than
+in the popular view.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">The shadows lay along Broadway,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">’Twas near the twilight-tide—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And slowly there a lady fair</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Was walking in her pride.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Alone walk’d she: but, viewlessly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Walk’d spirits at her side.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Peace charm’d the street beneath her feet,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And Honour charm’d the air;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And all astir look’d kind on her,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And call’d her good as fair—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For all God ever gave to her</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">She kept with chary care.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">She kept with care her beauties rare</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">From lovers warm and true—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For her heart was cold to all but gold,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And the rich came not to woo—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But honour’d well are charms to sell,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">If priests the selling do.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Now walking there was one more fair—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">A slight girl, lily-pale;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And she had unseen company</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To make the spirit quail—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">’Twixt Want and Scorn she walk’d forlorn,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And nothing could avail.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">No mercy now can clear her brow</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">For this world’s peace to pray;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For, as love’s wild prayer dissolved in air,
+               <span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Her woman’s heart gave way!—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">By man is cursed alway!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>The
+Didactic</i>. 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span>
+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 <i>per se</i>—this poem which is a poem and
+nothing more—this poem written solely for the poem’s sake.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>that</i> which is so indispensable in Song, is
+precisely all <i>that</i> with which <i>she</i> 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.
+<i>He</i> must be blind indeed who does not perceive the radical and
+chasmal differences 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.</p>
+
+<p>Dividing the world of mind into its three most immediately obvious
+distinctions, we have the Pure Intellect, Taste, and the Moral Sense. I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span>
+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 <i>offices</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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 odours, 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 colours, and odours, 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 odours, and colours, and sentiments, which greet <i>him</i>
+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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span>
+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
+Abbaté Gravina supposes—through excess of pleasure, but through
+a certain, petulant, impatient sorrow at our inability to grasp
+<i>now</i>, wholly, here on earth, at once and for ever, those divine
+and rapturous joys, of which <i>through</i> the poem, or <i>through</i>
+the music, we attain to but brief and indeterminate glimpses.</p>
+
+<p>The struggle to apprehend the supernal Loveliness—this struggle, on
+the part of souls fittingly constituted—has given to the world all
+<i>that</i> which it (the world) has ever been enabled at once to
+understand and <i>to feel</i> as poetic.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span>
+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 <i>may</i> be, indeed, that here this
+sublime end is, now and then, attained <i>in fact</i>. We are often
+made to feel, with a shivering delight, that from an earthly harp are
+stricken notes which <i>cannot</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>To recapitulate, then:—I would define, in brief, the Poetry of words
+as <i>The Rhythmical Creation of Beauty</i>. 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.</p>
+
+<p>A few words, however, in explanation. <i>That</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span>
+pleasurable elevation, or excitement, <i>of the soul</i>, which we
+recognise 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 <i>most readily</i> 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
+<i>Beauty</i> which is the atmosphere and the real essence of the poem.</p>
+
+<p>I cannot better introduce the few poems which I shall present for your
+consideration, than by the citation of the Pröem to Mr. Longfellow’s “Waif.”</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">The day is done, and the darkness</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Falls from the wings of Night,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As a feather is wafted downward</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">From an Eagle in his flight.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">I see the lights of the village</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Gleam through the rain and the mist,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And a feeling of sadness comes o’er me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That my soul cannot resist;
+                  <span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">A feeling of sadness and longing,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That is not akin to pain,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And resembles sorrow only</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">As the mist resembles the rain.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Come, read to me some poem,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Some simple and heartfelt lay,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That shall soothe this restless feeling,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And banish the thoughts of day.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not from the grand old masters,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Not from the bards sublime,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Whose distant footsteps echo</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Through the corridors of Time.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">For, like strains of martial music,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Their mighty thoughts suggest</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Life’s endless toil and endeavour;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And to-night I long for rest.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Read from some humbler poet,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Whose songs gushed from his heart,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As showers from the clouds of summer,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Or tears from the eyelids start;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Who through long days of labour,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And nights devoid of ease,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Still heard in his soul the music</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of wonderful melodies.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Such songs have power to quiet</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The restless pulse of care,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And come like the benediction</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That follows after prayer.
+               <span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Then read from the treasured volume</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The poem of thy choice,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And lend to the rhyme of the poet</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The beauty of thy voice.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the night shall be filled with music,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And the cares, that infest the day,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And as silently steal away.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>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—</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent2">——The bards sublime,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Whose distant footsteps echo</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Down the corridors of Time.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>The idea of the last quartrain is also very effective. The poem,
+on the whole, however, is chiefly to be admired for the graceful
+<i>insouciance</i> of its metre, so well in accordance with the
+character of the sentiments, and especially for the <i>ease</i> 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 <i>the tone</i>, in composition, should always
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span>
+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 <i>all</i> occasions,
+merely “quiet,” must necessarily, upon <i>many</i> 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
+wax-works.</p>
+
+<p>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:—</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">There, through the long, long summer hours,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The golden light should lie,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And thick, young herbs and groups of flowers</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Stand in their beauty by.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The oriole should build and tell</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">His love-tale close beside my cell;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The idle butterfly</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Should rest him there, and there be heard</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The housewife-bee and humming-bird.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">And what, if cheerful shouts, at noon,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Come, from the village sent,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Or songs of maids, beneath the moon,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">With fairy laughter blent?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And what if, in the evening light,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Betrothed lovers walk in sight</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Of my low monument?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I would the lovely scene around</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Might know no sadder sight nor sound.
+                    <span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">I know, I know I should not see</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The season’s glorious show,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Nor would its brightness shine for me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Nor its wild music flow;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But if, around my place of sleep,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The friends I love should come to weep,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">They might not haste to go.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Should keep them lingering by my tomb.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">These to their soften’d hearts should bear</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The thought of what has been,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And speak of one who cannot share</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">The gladness of the scene;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Whose part in all the pomp that fills</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The circuit of the summer hills,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent4">Is—that his grave is green;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And deeply would their hearts rejoice</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To hear again his living voice.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>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,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">A feeling of sadness and longing</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That is not akin to pain,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And resembles sorrow only</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">As the mist resembles the rain.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>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:—</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">I fill this cup to one made up</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of loveliness alone,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A woman, of her gentle sex</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The seeming paragon;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To whom the better elements</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And kindly stars have given</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A form so fair, that, like the air,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">’Tis less of earth than heaven.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Her every tone is Music’s own,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Like those of morning birds,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And something more than melody</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Dwells ever in her words;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The coinage of her heart are they,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And from her lips each flows</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As one may see the burden’d bee</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Forth issue from the rose.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Affections are as thoughts to her,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The measures of her hours;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Her feelings have the fragrancy,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The freshness of young flowers;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And lovely passions, changing oft,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">So fill her, she appears</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The image of themselves by turns,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The idol of past years!
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of her bright face one glance will trace</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">A picture on the brain,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And of her voice in echoing hearts</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">A sound must long remain;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But memory, such as mine of her,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">So very much endears,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">When death is nigh my latest sigh</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Will not be life’s, but hers.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">I fill’d this cup to one made up</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Of loveliness alone,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A woman, of her gentle sex</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The seeming paragon—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Her health! and would on earth there stood,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Some more of such a frame,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That life might be all poetry,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And weariness a name.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>It was by no means my design, however, to expatiate upon the
+<i>merits</i> of what I should read you. These will necessarily speak
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span>
+for themselves. Boccalini, 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 <i>all the chaff</i> for his reward.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>put</i>,
+to become self-evident. It is not excellence if it require to be
+demonstrated as such:—and thus, to point out too particularly the
+merits of a work of Art, is to admit that they are <i>not</i> merits
+altogether.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>all in all</i> of the divine passion of Love—a
+sentiment which, perhaps, has found its echo in more, and in more
+passionate, human hearts than any other single sentiment ever embodied
+in words:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here;
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o’ercast,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Oh! what was love made for, if ’tis not the same</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I know not, I ask not, if guilt’s in that heart,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thou hast call’d me thy Angel in moments of bliss,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And thy Angel I’ll be ’mid the horrors of this,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And shield thee, and save thee,—or perish there too!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>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 <i>only</i>. 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 <i>imaginative</i>, 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.</p>
+
+<p>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:
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">O saw ye not fair Ines?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">She’s gone into the West,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To dazzle when the sun is down,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And rob the world of rest:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">She took our daylight with her,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The smiles that we love best,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With morning blushes on her cheek,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And pearls upon her breast.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">O turn again, fair Ines,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Before the fall of night,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">For fear the moon should shine alone,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And stars unrivall’d bright;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And blessed will the lover be</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That walks beneath their light,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And breathes the love against thy cheek</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">I dare not even write!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Would I had been, fair Ines,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That gallant cavalier,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Who rode so gaily by thy side,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And whisper’d thee so near!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Were there no bonny dames at home,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Or no true lovers here,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That he should cross the seas to win</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The dearest of the dear?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">I saw thee, lovely Ines,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Descend along the shore,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With bands of noble gentlemen,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And banners waved before;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And gentle youth and maidens gay,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And snowy plumes they wore</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It would have been a beauteous dream,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">—If it had been no more!
+                 <span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Alas, alas, fair Ines!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">She went away with song,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With Music waiting on her steps,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And shoutings of the throng;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But some were sad and felt no mirth,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">But only Music’s wrong,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To her you’ve loved so long.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Farewell, farewell, fair Ines,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">That vessel never bore</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So fair a lady on its deck,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Nor danced so light before,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Alas for pleasure on the sea,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And sorrow on the shore!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The smile that blest one lover’s heart</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Has broken many more!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>“The Haunted House,” by the same author, is one of the truest
+poems ever written—one of the <i>truest</i>—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.”</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">One more Unfortunate,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Weary of breath,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Rashly importunate,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Gone to her death!
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Take her up tenderly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Lift her with care;——</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fashion’d so slenderly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Young, and so fair!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Look at her garments</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Clinging like cerements;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Whilst the wave constantly</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Drips from her clothing;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Take her up instantly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Loving, not loathing.—</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Touch her not scornfully;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Think of her mournfully,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Gently and humanly;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Not of the stains of her:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">All that remains of her,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Now, is pure womanly.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Make no deep scrutiny</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Into her mutiny</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Rash and undutiful;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Past all dishonour,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Death has left on her</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Only the beautiful.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Still, for all slips of hers,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">One of Eve’s family—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Wipe those poor lips of hers</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Oozing so clammily;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Loop up her tresses</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Escaped from the comb,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Her fair auburn tresses;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Whilst wonderment guesses</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Where was her home?
+              <span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Who was her father?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Who was her mother?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Had she a sister?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Had she a brother?</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Or was there a dearer one</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Still, and a nearer one</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Yet, than all other?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Alas for the rarity</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Of Christian charity</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Under the sun!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Oh! it was pitiful!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Near a whole city full,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Home she had none.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Sisterly, brotherly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fatherly, motherly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Feelings had changed:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Love, by harsh evidence,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thrown from its eminence:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Even God’s providence</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Seeming estranged.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Where the lamps quiver</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So far in the river,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">With many a light</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From window and casement,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">From garret to basement,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">She stood, with amazement,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Houseless by night.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">The bleak wind of March</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Made her tremble and shiver;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">But not the dark arch,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Or the black flowing river:
+               <span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Mad from life’s history,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Glad to death’s mystery,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Swift to be hurl’d—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Anywhere, anywhere</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Out of the world!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">In she plunged boldly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">No matter how coldly</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The rough river ran,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Over the brink of it,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Picture it,—think of it,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Dissolute Man!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Lave in it, drink of it</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Then, if you can!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Take her up tenderly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Lift her with care;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fashion’d so slenderly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Young, and so fair!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Ere her limbs frigidly</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Stiffen too rigidly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Decently,—kindly,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Smooth, and compose them;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And her eyes, close them,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Staring so blindly!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Dreadfully staring</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Through muddy impurity,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As when with the daring</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Last look of despairing</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Fixed on futurity.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Perishing gloomily,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Spurred by contumely,
+             <span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Cold inhumanity,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Burning insanity,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Into her rest,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Cross her hands humbly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">As if praying dumbly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Over her breast!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Owning her weakness,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Her evil behaviour,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And leaving, with meekness,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Her sins to her Saviour!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>The vigour 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.</p>
+
+<p>Among the minor poems of Lord Byron, is one which has never received
+from the critics the praise which it undoubtedly deserves:—</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Though the day of my destiny’s over,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And the star of my fate hath declined,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Thy soft heart refused to discover</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The faults which so many could find;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">It shrunk not to share it with me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And the love which my spirit hath painted</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">It never hath found but in thee.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Then when nature around me is smiling,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">The last smile which answers to mine,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I do not believe it beguiling,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Because it reminds me of thine;
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And when winds are at war with the ocean,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">As the breasts I believed in with me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">If their billows excite an emotion,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">It is that they bear me from <i>thee</i>.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Though the rock of my last hope is shivered,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And its fragments are sunk in the wave,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Though I feel that my soul is delivered</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">To pain—it shall not be its slave.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">There is many a pang to pursue me:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">They may crush, but they shall not contemn—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">They may torture, but shall not subdue me—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">’Tis of <i>thee</i> that I think—not of them.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Though human, thou didst not deceive me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Though woman, thou didst not forsake,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Though slandered, thou never couldst shake,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Though parted, it was not to fly,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Though watchful, ’twas not to defame me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Nor mute, that the world might belie.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Nor the war of the many with one—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">If my soul was not fitted to prize it,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">’Twas folly not sooner to shun:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And if dearly that error hath cost me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And more than I once could foresee,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I have found that whatever it lost me,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">It could not deprive me of <i>thee</i>.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">From the wreck of the past, which hath perished,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Thus much I at least may recall,
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It hath taught me that which I most cherished</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Deserved to be dearest of all:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In the desert a fountain is springing,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">In the wide waste there still is a tree,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And a bird in the solitude singing,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Which speaks to my spirit of <i>thee</i>.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Although the rhythm, here, is one of the most difficult, the
+versification could scarcely be improved. No nobler <i>theme</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>think</i> him the
+noblest of poets—<i>not</i> because the impressions he produces
+are, at <i>all</i> times, the most profound—<i>not</i> because the
+poetical excitement which he induces is, at <i>all</i> times, the most
+intense—but because it <i>is</i>, at all times, the most ethereal—in
+other words, the most elevating and the 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:”</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent2">Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Tears from the depth of some divine despair</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And thinking of the days that are no more.
+                <span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent2">Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That brings our friends up from the underworld,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Sad as the last which reddens over one</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">That sinks with all we love below the verge;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent2">Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">To dying ears, when unto dying eyes</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent2">Dear as remember’d kisses after death,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign’d</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">On lips that are for others; deep as love,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">O Death in Life, the days that are no more.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Thus, although in a very cursory and imperfect manner, I have
+endeavoured 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 <i>an elevating
+excitement of the Soul</i>—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 Dionæn Venus—is unquestionably the purest and
+truest of all poetical themes. And in regard to Truth—if, to be sure,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>We shall reach, however, more immediately a distinct conception of
+what the true Poetry is, by mere reference to a few of the simple
+elements which induce in the Poet himself the true poetical effect. He
+recognises 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 odour 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span>
+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 endurances—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 <i>love</i>.</p>
+
+<p>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 sympathise
+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.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">Then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants, all!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And don your helmes amaine:</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Deathe’s couriers, Fame and Honour, call</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Us to the field againe.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">No shrewish teares shall fill our eyes</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">When the sword-hilt’s in our hand,—</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Heart-whole we’ll part, and no whit sighe</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">For the fayrest of the land;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Let piping swaine, and craven wight,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">Thus weepe and puling crye;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Our business is like men to fight,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent2">And hero-like to die!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+    <img src="images/i_346.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="251" >
+</div>
+
+<p class="center">LONDON:—PRINTED BY RICHARD CLAY,<br>BREAD STREET HILL</p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="transnote bbox spa2">
+<p class="f120 spa1">Transcriber&#8217;s Notes:</p>
+<hr class="r10">
+<p>Deprecated spellings or archaeic words were not corrected.</p>
+<p>The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up
+      stanzas and so that they are near to the stanza they illustrate.</p>
+<p>Typographical and punctuation errors have been silently corrected.</p>
+</div></div>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79019 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
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@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
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@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+[Project Gutenberg](https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook [#79019](https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79019)