Essential Tales And Poems Of Edgar Allan Poe Part 2

Here, where a hero fell, a column falls!

Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold, A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat!

Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle!

Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled, Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home, Lit by the wan light of the horned moon, The swift and silent lizard of the stones!

But stay! these walls-these ivy-clad arcades- These mouldering plinths-these sad and blackened shafts- These vague entablatures-this crumbling frieze- These shattered cornices-this wreck-this ruin- These stones-alas! these gray stones-are they all- All of the famed, and the colossal left By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?

"Not all"-the Echoes answer me-"not all!

"Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever "From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise, "As melody from Memnon to the Sun.g "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."

Sonnet-Silence There are some qualities-some incorporate things, That have a double life, which thus is made A type of that twin ent.i.ty which springs From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.

There is a two-fold Silence Silence-sea and sh.o.r.e- Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places, Newly with gra.s.s 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 G.o.d!

Dream-Land By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon,h named NIGHT, named NIGHT, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule-i From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, Out of s.p.a.cE-out of TIME.

Bottomless vales and boundless floods, And chasms, and caves, and t.i.tan woods,j With forms that no man can discover For the dews that drip all over; Mountains toppling evermore Into seas without a sh.o.r.e; 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,-k 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 pa.s.s 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!l 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 pa.s.ses Beholds it but through darkened gla.s.ses.

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.

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 visiter," 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 ghostm upon the floor. upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;-vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the lost Lenore4- 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 visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visiter 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.

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 Pallas5 just above my chamber door- 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 sh.o.r.e- Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian sh.o.r.e!"n Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning-little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door- Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing 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 he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before." 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! shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy G.o.d hath lent thee-by these angels he hath sent thee Respite-respite and nepentheo from thy memories of Lenore! 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 ash.o.r.e, 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? there balm in Gilead?p-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 G.o.d we both adore- Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,q 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 sh.o.r.e!

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!