Derniers Contes

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 117

Helas! helas! la belle Ines,
Elle est partie avec le chant,
Avec la musique suivant ses pas,
Et les clameurs de la foule;
Mais quelques-uns etaient tristes, et ne sentaient pas de joie,
Mais seulement la torture d'une musique.
Qui chantait: Adieu, Adieu
A celle que vous avez aimee si longtemps.

Adieu, adieu, belle Ines,
Ce vaisseau jamais ne porta
Si belle dame sur son pont,
Ni ne dansa jamais si leger--
Helas! pour le plaisir de la mer
Et le chagrin du rivage!
Le sourire qui a ravi le coeur d'un amoureux
En a brise bien d'autres!

_La Maison hantee_, du meme auteur, est un des poemes les plus
veritablement poemes, les plus exceptionnels, les plus profondement
artistiques, tant pour le sujet que pour l'execution. Il est puissamment
ideal--imaginatif. Je regrette que sa longueur m'empeche de le citer
ici. Qu'on me permette de donner a sa place le poeme si universellement
goute: le _Pont des Soupirs_.

Une plus infortunee,
Fatiguee de respirer,
Follement desesperee,
Est allee au devant de la mort!

Prenez-la tendrement,
Soulevez-la avec soin:--
Son enveloppe est si frele,
Elle est jeune, et si belle!

Voyez ses vetements
Qui collent a son corps comme des bandelettes;
Pendant que l'eau continuellement
Degoutte de sa robe;
Prenez-la bien vite
Amoureusement, et sans degout.

Ne la touchez pas avec mepris;
Pensez a elle tristement,
Doucement, humainement;
Ne songez pas a ses taches.
Tout ce qui reste d'elle
Est maintenant femininement pur.

Ne scrutez pas profondement
Sa revolte
Temeraire et coupable;
Tout deshonneur est passe,
La mort ne lui a laisse
Que la beaute.

Silence pour ses chutes,
Elle est de la famille d'Eve--
Essuyez ses pauvres levres
Qui suintent si visqueuses.
Relevez ses tresses
Echappees au peigne,
Ses belles tresses chataines,
Pendant qu'on se demande, dans l'etonnement:
Ou etait sa demeure?

Qui etait son pere?
Qui etait sa mere?
Avait-elle une soeur?
Avait-elle un frere?
Ou avait-elle quelqu'un de

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Text Comparison with The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 5

Page 2
From it are deduced not only the hues but the forms of all objects incumbent.
Page 13
Yet can you tell me one writer on the subject of government who has ever thought this particular branch of the subject worthy of discussion at all?" He here paused for a moment, stepped to a book-case, and brought forth one of the ordinary synopses of Natural History.
Page 37
I wonder if he has forgotten the many unanswerable questions which he propounded to me so fluently on the day when I gave him my last lecture? At all events, he is cured of the transcendentals.
Page 45
But the threat had not been actually kept; the original will, it appeared, had not been altered.
Page 65
Judge, then, with what feelings of satisfaction our hero found himself thrown thus at once into the society of a person for whom he had at all times entertained the most unqualified respect.
Page 89
No mercy now can clear her brow From 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 recognize the Willis who has written so many mere "verses of society.
Page 100
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 shootings 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.
Page 102
Perhishing 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 behavior, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to.
Page 111
" * "Book of Gems," Edited by S.
Page 123
And now, as the night was senescent, .
Page 149
(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.
Page 163
Now be this Fancy, by Heaven, or be it Fate, Still will I not descend.
Page 173
He is read, if at all, in preference to the combined and established wit of the world.
Page 174
There are, of course, many objections to what I say: Milton is a great example of the contrary; but his opinion with respect to the 'Paradise Regained' is by no means fairly ascertained.
Page 181
glittering thro' the light-- A wreath that twined each starry form around, And all the opal'd air in color bound.
Page 184
Page 190
' *That stole upon the ear, in Eyraco, Of many a wild star-gazer long ago-- That stealeth ever on the ear of him Who, musing, gazeth on the distance dim.
Page 196
know That Truth is Falsehood--or that Bliss is Woe? Sweet was their death--with them to die was rife With the last ecstacy 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! * 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.
Page 205
I wrapp'd myself in grandeur then, And donn'd a visionary crown-- Yet it was not that Fantasy Had thrown her mantle over me-- But that, among the rabble--men, Lion ambition is chain'd 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.
Page 217