Cuentos Clásicos del Norte, Primera Serie

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 135

rodea siempre al remolino; y yo
pensaba, por supuesto, que un momento más nos precipitaría en aquel
abismo que podíamos discernir sólo de manera indistinta a causa de la
enloquecedora velocidad con que éramos arrastrados. El barco no parecía
absolutamente hundirse en las aguas, sino deslizarse sobre la superficie
del oleaje como una burbuja de aire. Su lado de estribor daba al
remolino, y el de babor ocultaba a nuestra vista el mundo de océano que
habíamos dejado atrás Elevábase como un gran muro movible entre nosotros
y el horizonte.

"Puede parecer extraño, pero, sin embargo, yo me sentía más dueño de mí
cuando nos encontramos en las mismas fauces del vórtice que cuando nos
aproximábamos a su horror. Habiendo perdido toda esperanza, me libré de
gran parte de aquel terror que me inutilizaba al principio. Sospecho que
fué la desesperación lo que templó mis nervios.

"Quizá creeréis que soy jactancioso, pero lo que digo es la pura verdad.
Comencé a meditar cuán magnífico era morir de esta manera, y qué gran
locura era la mía en detenerme en mezquinas consideraciones sobre mi
propia vida en presencia de esta maravillosa manifestación del poder de
Dios. Creo que enrojecí de vergüenza cuando esta idea atravesó mi
espíritu. Pasado algún tiempo, me sentí poseído de la más viva
curiosidad acerca del interior del remolino. Y sentí positivamente el
_deseo_ de explorar sus profundidades aun a costa del sacrificio de mi
vida que ello implicaba; siendo mi principal pesar la idea de que jamás
podría relatar a mis viejos camaradas de la costa los misterios que
hubiera descubierto. Indudablemente eran éstas extrañas fantasías para
ocupar la mente de un hombre en tal situación; y he pensado después
varias veces que sin duda las revoluciones del barco alrededor del
remolino me habían vuelto algo tonto.

"Otra circunstancia contribuyó también a devolverme mi sangre fría; y
fué la cesación del viento que no podía alcanzarnos en esta posición;
pues, como vos mismo lo podéis apreciar, el cinturón de marejada está
considerablemente más bajo que el nivel general del océano, que formaba
entonces sobre nosotros una alta, negra y enorme protuberancia. Si jamás
habéis estado en el mar en ocasión de una borrasca, no podéis formaros
idea de la confusión de ideas que resulta del viento y la lluvia
combinados. Ciegan, ensordecen y ahogan, quitándoos toda facultad de
acción o de reflexión. Pero entonces nos hallábamos libres en gran parte
de estas molestias; exactamente como el condenado a muerte goza en su
prisión de las pequeñas prerrogativas que le estaban prohibidas cuando
su sentencia era todavía incierta.

"Imposible sería decir cuántas veces recorrimos el circuito de

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Text Comparison with The Bells, and Other Poems

Page 0
THE BELLS AND OTHER POEMS [Illustration: The Bells] THE BELLS and other Poems BY EDGAR ALLAN POE WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY EDMUND DULAC [Illustration: Edgar Allan POE] HODDER AND STOUGHTON NEW YORK AND LONDON CONTENTS _The Bells_ _Eulalie--A Song_ _Annabel Lee_ _Sonnet--Silence_ _The Raven_ _To one in Paradise_ _Lenore_ _Dreams_ _To Helen (I saw thee once--once only--years ago)_ _The Haunted Palace_ _A Dream within a Dream_ _The City in the Sea_ _To F----_ _The Sleeper_ _Ulalume_ _Romance_ _Sonnet--to Science_ _Eldorado_ _To M.
Page 1
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: The Bells] III.
Page 4
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.
Page 5
by the sea; But we loved with a love which was more than love-- I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the wingèd seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.
Page 6
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.
Page 10
For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light And loveliness,--have left my very heart In climes of my imagining, apart From mine own home, with beings that have been Of mine own thought--what more could I have seen? 'Twas once--and only once--and the wild hour From my remembrance shall not pass--some power Or spell had bound me--'twas the chilly wind Came o'er me in the night, and left behind Its image on my spirit--or the moon Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon Too coldly--or the stars--howe'er it was That dream was as that night-wind--let it pass.
Page 14
_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.
Page 15
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.
Page 19
[Illustration: To the river] _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.
Page 22
head-- Such as the drowsy shepherd on his bed Of giant pasturage lying at his ease, Raising his heavy eyelid, starts and sees With many a mutter'd "hope to be forgiven" What time the moon is quadrated in Heaven-- Of Rosy head that, towering far away Into the sunlight ether, caught the ray Of sunken suns at eve--at noon of night, While the moon danc'd with the fair stranger light Uprear'd upon such height arose a pile Of gorgeous columns on th' unburthen'd air, Flashing from Parian marble that twin smile Far down upon the wave that sparkled there, And nursled the young mountain in its lair.
Page 23
[Illustration: Al Aaraaf] Ligeia! Ligeia! My beautiful one! Whose harshest idea Will to melody run, O! is it thy will On the breezes to toss? Or, capriciously still, Like the lone Albatross, Incumbent on night (As she on the air) To keep watch with delight .
Page 24
On the harmony there? Ligeia! wherever Thy image may be, No magic shall sever Thy music from thee.
Page 27
Nothing there is motionless-- Nothing save the airs that.
Page 28
_THE HAPPIEST DAY, THE HAPPIEST HOUR_ The happiest day--the happiest hour My sear'd and blighted heart hath known, The highest hope of pride and power, I feel hath flown.
Page 29
Maris Louise Shew)] _EVENING STAR_ 'Twas noontide of summer, And mid-time of night; And stars in their orbits, Shone pale, thro' the light Of the brighter, cold moon, 'Mid planets her slaves, Herself in the Heavens, Her beam on the waves.
Page 30
fervid, flickering torch of life was lit From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth A passionate light--such for his spirit was fit-- And yet that spirit knew not, in the hour Of its own fervour--what had o'er it power.
Page 32
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.
Page 34
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.
Page 35
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.
Page 36
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.