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Poe, Edgar Allen - The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe

Page 167

by Volume 01-05 (lit)


  the editor of the "Union Magazine." It was not published. So, in the

  following February, the poet forwarded to the same periodical a much

  enlarged and altered transcript. Three months having elapsed without

  publication, another revision of the poem, similar to the current version,

  was sent, and in the following October was published in the "Union

  Magazine."

  3. This poem was first published in Colton's "American Review" for

  December, 1847, as "To - Ulalume: a Ballad." Being reprinted immediately

  in the "Home Journal," it was copied into various publications with the

  name of the editor, N. P. Willis, appended, and was ascribed to him. When

  first published, it contained the following additional stanza which Poe

  subsequently, at the suggestion of Mrs. Whitman, wisely suppressed:

  Said we then-we two, tben-"Ah, can it

  Have been that the woodlandish ghouls--

  The pitiful, the merciful ghouls--

  To bar up our path and to ban it

  From the secret that lies in these wolds--

  Had drawn up the spectre of a planet

  From the limbo of lunary souls--

  This sinfully scintillant planet

  From the Hell of the planetary souls?"

  4. "To Helen!' (Mrs. S. Helen Whitman) was not published until November,

  1848, although written several months earlier. It first appeared in the

  "Union Magazine," and with the omission, contrary to the knowledge or

  desire of Poe, of the line, "Oh, Godl oh, Heaven-how my heart beats in

  coupling those two words."

  5. "Annabel Lee" was written early in 1849, and is evidently an expression

  of the poet's undying love for his deceased bride, although at least one

  of his lady admirers deemed it a response to her admiration. Poe sent a

  copy of the ballad to the "Union Magazine," in which publication it

  appeared in January, 1850, three months after the author's death. While

  suffering from "hope deferred" as to its fate, Poe presented a copy of

  "Annabel Lee" to the editor of the "Southern Literary Messenger," who

  published it in the November number of his periodical, a month after Poe's

  death. In the meantime the poet's own copy, left among his papers, passed

  into the hands of the person engaged to edit his works, and he quoted the

  poem in an obituary of Poe, in the New York "Tribune," before any one else

  had an opportunity of publishing it.

  6. "A Valentine," one of three poems addressed to Mrs. Osgood, appears to

  have been written early in 1846.

  7. "An Enigma," addressed to Mrs. Sarah Anna Lewis ("Stella"), was sent to

  that lady in a letter, in November, 1847, and the following March appeared

  in Sartain's "Union Magazine."

  8. The sonnet, "To My Mother" (Maria Clemm), was sent for publication to

  the short-lived "Flag of our Union," early in 1849,' but does not appear

  to have been issued until after its author's death, when it appeared in

  the "Leaflets of Memory" for 1850.

  9. "For Annie" was first published in the "Flag of our Union," in the

  spring of 1849. Poe, annoyed at some misprints in this issue, shortly

  afterwards caused a corrected copy to be inserted in the "Home Journal."

  10. "To F-- --" (Frances Sargeant Osgood) appeared in the "Broadway

  journal" for April, 1845. These lines are but slightly varied from those

  inscribed "To Mary," in the "Southern Literary Messenger" for July, 1835,

  and subsequently republished, with the two stanzas transposed, in

  "Graham's Magazine" for March, 1842, as "To One Departed."

  11. "To F-- --s S. O--d," a portion of the poet's triune tribute to Mrs.

  Osgood, was published in the "Broadway Journal" for September, 1845. The

  earliest version of these lines appeared in the "Southern Literary

  Messenger" for September, 1835, as "Lines written in an Album," and was

  addressed to Eliza White, the proprietor's daughter. Slightly revised, the

  poem reappeared in Burton's "Gentleman's Magazine" for August, 1839, as

  "To--."

  12. Although "Eldorado" was published during Poe's lifetime, in 1849, in

  the "Flag of our Union," it does not appear to have ever received the

  author's finishing touches.

  ======

  End of Poems of Later Life

  POEMS OF MANHOOD

  LENORE

  AH broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!

  Let the bell toll! - a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;

  And, Guy De Vere, hast _thou_ no tear? - weep now or never more!

  See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!

  Come! let the burial rite be read - the funeral song be sung! -

  An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young -

  A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.

  "Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,

  "And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her - that she died!

  "How shall the ritual, then, be read? - the requiem how be sung

  "By you - by yours, the evil eye, - by yours, the slanderous tongue

  "That did to death the innocent 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 so 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 _debonair_, 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 Paean of old days!

  "Let no bell toll! - lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth,

  "Should catch the note, as it doth float - up from the damned Earth.

  "To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven -

  "From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven -

  "From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven."

  ~~ ~~~End of Text

  ======

  TO ONE IN PARADISE.

  THOU wast all that to me, love,

  For which my soul did pine --

  A green isle in the sea, love,

  A fountain and a shrime,

  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 guld!) my spirit hovering lies

  Mute, mothionless, 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 thunder0blasted 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.

  1835.

  ~~~ End of Text ~~~

  ======

  THE COLISEUM.

&nbs
p; 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 wanlight
  The swift and silent lizard of the stones!

  But stay! these walls - these ivy-clad arcades -

  These mouldering plinths - these sad and blackened shafts -

  These vague entablatures - this crumbling frieze -

  These shattered cornices - this wreck - this ruin -

  These stones - alas! these gray stones - are they all -

  All of the famed, and the colossal left

  By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?

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

  "Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever

  "From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise,

  "As melody from Memnon to the Sun.

  "We rule the hearts of mightiest men - we rule

  "With a despotic sway all giant minds.

  "We are not impotent - we pallid stones.

  "Not all our power is gone - not all our fame -

  "Not all the magic of our high renown -

  "Not all the wonder that encircles us -

  "Not all the mysteries that in us lie -

  "Not all the memories that hang upon

  "And cling around about us as a garment,

  "Clothing us in a robe of more than glory."

  1833.

  ~~~ End of Text ~~~

  ======

  THE HAUNTED PALACE.

  IN the greenest of our valleys

  By good angels tenanted,

  Once a fair and stately palace --

  Radiant palace -- reared its head.

  In the monarch Thought's dominion --

  It stood there!

  Never seraph spread a pinion

  Over fabric half so fair.

  Banners yellow, glorious, golden,

  On its roof did float and flow,

  (This -- all this -- was in the olden

  Time long ago,)

  And every gentle air that dallied,

  In that sweet day,

  Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,

  A winged odour went away.

  Wanderers in that happy valley,

  Through two luminous windows, saw

  Spirits moving musically,

  To a lute's well-tuned 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 sorrow

  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, lie a ghastly rapid river,

  Through the pale door

  A hideous throng rush out forever

  And laugh -- but smile no more.

  1838.

  ~~~ End of Text ~~~

  ======

  THE CONQUEROR WORM.

  LO ! 'tis a gala night

  Within the lonesome latter years!

  An angel throng, bewinged, bedight

  In veils, and drowned in tears,

  Sit in a theatre, to see

  A play of hopes and fears,

  While the orchestra breathes fitfully

  The music of the spheres.

  Mimes, in the form of God on high,

  Mutter and mumble low,

  And hither and thither fly -

  Mere puppets they, who come and go

  At bidding of vast formless things

  That shift the scenery to and fro,

  Flapping from out their Condor wings

  Invisible Wo !

  That motley drama - oh, be sure

  It shall not be forgot !

  With its Phantom chased for evermore,

  By a crowd that seize it not,

  Through a circle that ever returneth in

  To the self-same spot,

  And much of Madness, and more of Sin,

  And Horror the soul of the plot.

  But see, amid the mimic rout

  A crawling shape intrude !

  A blood-red thing that writhes from out

  The scenic solitude!

  It writhes ! - it writhes ! - with mortal pangs

  The mimes become its food,

  And the angels sob at vermin fangs

  In human gore imbued.

  Out - out are the lights - out all !

  And, over each quivering form,

  The curtain, a funeral pall,

  Comes down with the rush of a storm,

  And the angels,all pallid and wan,

  Uprising, unveiling, affirm

  That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"

  And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

  1838.

  ~~~ End of Text ~~~

  ======

  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!

  1840.

  ~~~ End of Text ~~~

  ======

  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 Titian 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!

  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;

 

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