Selections from Poe Part 4

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, 5 How many thoughts of what entombed hopes, How many visions of a maiden that is No more--no more upon thy verdant slopes!

_No more!_ alas, that magical sad sound Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more, 10 Thy memory no more. Accursed ground!

Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled sh.o.r.e, O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante!

"Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante!"

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. 5

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 10 In the battle down the dell, And who is happy now.

But he spoke to rea.s.sure me, And he kissed my pallid brow, While a reverie came o'er me, 15 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, 20 And this the plighted vow; And though my faith be broken, And though my heart be broken, Here is a ring, as token That I am happy now! 25

Would G.o.d 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 30 May not be happy now.

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 twofold Silence--sea and sh.o.r.e, 5 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: 10 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! 15

THE CONQUEROR WORM

Lo! 't is 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 5 A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of G.o.d on high, Mutter and mumble low, 10

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 15 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, 20 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 25 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, 30 And seraphs 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, 35 Comes down with the rush of a storm, While the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"

And its hero, the Conqueror Worm. 40

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 5 From an ultimate dim Thule: 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, 10 With forms that no man can discover For the tears that drip all over; Mountains toppling evermore Into seas without a sh.o.r.e; Seas that restlessly aspire, 15 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. 20

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 25 Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever; By the gray woods, by the swamp Where the toad and the newt encamp; By the dismal tarns and pools Where dwell the Ghouls; 30 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 35 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 'T is a peaceful, soothing region; 40 For the spirit that walks in shadow 'T is--oh, 't is an Eldorado!

But the traveller, travelling through it, May not--dare not openly view it; Never its mysteries are exposed 45 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. 50 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 55 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 visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door: 5 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, 10 For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore: Nameless here forevermore.

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 15 "'T is 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; 20 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, 25 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. 30

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore; Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore: 35 'T is 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, 40 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, 45 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!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore; 50 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."