By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 53

manifestations, différentes en modes et en degrés, d'une condensation
de la Terre faiblement continuée.

Si mes vues sont justes, attendons-nous à trouver les planètes plus
récentes,--c'est-à-dire celles qui sont plus près du Soleil,--plus
lumineuses que celles qui sont plus éloignées et d'une origine plus
ancienne. L'éclat excessif de Vénus (qui, durant ses phases, laisse
voir sur ses parties sombres de fréquentes Aurores) ne semble pas
suffisamment expliqué par sa proximité de l'astre central. Cette
planète est, sans doute, vivement lumineuse par elle-même, bien qu'elle
le soit moins que Mercure, pendant que la luminosité de Neptune se
trouve comparativement réduite à rien.

Mes idées étant admises, il est clair que du moment où le Soleil
s'est déchargé d'un anneau, il a dû subir une diminution continue
de lumière et de chaleur en raison de l'incrustation continue de sa
surface; et qu'une époque a dû venir, époque précédant immédiatement
une nouvelle décharge, où la diminution de la lumière et de la chaleur
a été matériellement très-sensible. Or nous savons qu'il est resté
de ces changements des traces faciles à reconnaître. Sur les îles
Melville, pour ne prendre qu'un exemple entre cent, nous trouvons
des témoignages d'une végétation plus que tropicale, des traces de
plantes qui n'auraient jamais pu fleurir sans une chaleur et une
lumière immensément plus grandes que celles que notre Soleil peut
actuellement donner à aucune partie de la Terre. Devons-nous rapporter
cette végétation à l'époque qui a suivi immédiatement l'émission de la
planète Vénus? A cette époque a dû se produire pour nous la plus grande
somme d'influence solaire, et cette influence a dû, dans le fait,
atteindre alors son maximum; naturellement nous négligeons la période
de l'émission de la Terre, qui fut sa période de simple organisation.

D'autre part, nous savons qu'il existe des _soleils non lumineux,_
c'est-à-dire des soleils dont nous déterminons l'existence par les
mouvements des autres, mais dont la luminosité n'est pas suffisante
pour agir sur nous. Ces soleils sont-ils invisibles simplement à cause
de la longueur de temps écoulé depuis qu'ils ont produit une planète?
Et en revanche, ne pouvons-nous pas, au moins dans de certains cas,
expliquer les apparitions soudaines de soleils sur des points où nous
n'en avions pas jusqu'à présent soupçonné l'existence, en supposant
qu'ayant tourné avec des surfaces durcies pendant les quelques
milliers d'années qui composent notre histoire astronomique, ils ont
pu enfin, après avoir produit un nouvel astre secondaire, déployer les
splendeurs de leur partie intérieure toujours incandescente? Quant
au fait bien certain de l'accroissement proportionnel de chaleur à
mesure que nous pénétrons dans l'intérieur de la Terre, il suffit de
le rappeler en passant, et il sert à corroborer aussi

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Text Comparison with The Bells, and Other Poems

Page 0
Hear the mellow wedding bells, Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! .
Page 1
Now--now to sit or never, .
Page 3
And the people--ah, the people-- They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone-- They are neither man nor woman-- They are neither brute nor human-- They are Ghouls: And their king it is who tolls; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells! And he dances, and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells-- Of the bells: Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells Of the bells, bells, bells-- To the sobbing of the bells; Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To.
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.
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that, on this July midnight-- Was it not Fate, (whose name is also Sorrow,) That bade me pause before that garden-gate, To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses? No footstep stirred: the hated world all slept, Save only thee and me.
Page 12
Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie.
Page 13
blend the turrets and shadows there That all seem pendulous in air, While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down.
Page 14
Page 16
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart, Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise, Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies, Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car? And driven the Hamadryad from the wood To seek a shelter in some happier star? Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood, The Elfin from the green grass, and from me The summer dream beneath.
Page 18
] Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-- Of all to whom thine absence is the night-- The blotting utterly from out high heaven The sacred sun--of all who, weeping, bless thee Hourly for hope--for life--ah! above all, For the resurrection of deep-buried faith In Truth--in Virtue--in Humanity-- Of all who, on Despair's unhallowed bed Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen At thy soft-murmured words, "Let there be light!" At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes-- Of all who owe thee most--whose gratitude Nearest resembles worship--oh, remember The truest--the most fervently devoted, And think that these weak lines are written by him-- By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think His spirit is communing with an angel's.
Page 19
Away--away--'mid seas of rays that roll Empyrean splendour o'er th' unchained soul-- The soul that scarce (the billows are so dense) Can struggle to its destin'd eminence,-- To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode And late to ours, the favour'd one of God-- But, now, the ruler of an anchor'd realm, She throws aside the sceptre--leaves the helm, And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns, Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs.
Page 20
erst it sham'd All other loveliness:--its honied dew (The fabled nectar that the heathen knew) Deliriously sweet, was dropp'd from Heaven.
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their own-- Thy will is done, O God! The star hath ridden high Thro' many a tempest, but she rode Beneath thy burning eye; And here, in thought, to thee-- In thought that can alone Ascend thy empire and so be A partner of thy throne-- By wingèd Fantasy, My embassy is given, Till secrecy shall knowledge be In the environs of Heaven.
Page 22
From the wild energy of wanton haste Her cheeks were flushing, and her lips apart; And zone that clung around her gentle waist Had burst beneath the heaving of her heart.
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light That fell, refracted, thro' thy bounds, afar, O Death! from eye of God upon that star: Sweet was that error--sweeter still that death-- Sweet was that error--even with _us_ the breath Of Science dims the mirror of our joy-- To them 'twere the Simoom, and would destroy-- For what (to them) availeth it to know That Truth is Falsehood--or that Bliss is Woe? Sweet was their death--with them to die was rife With the last ecstasy 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! What guilty spirit, in what shrubbery dim, Heard not the stirring summons of that hymn? But two: they fell: for Heaven no grace imparts To those who hear not for their beating hearts.
Page 28
And, pride, what have I now with thee? Another brow may even inherit The venom thou hast pour'd on me-- Be still, my spirit! The happiest day--the happiest hour Mine eyes shall see--have ever seen, The brightest glance of pride and power, I feel--have been: But were that hope of pride and power Now offer'd, with the pain Even _then_ I felt--that brightest hour I would not live again: For on its wing was dark alloy, And, as it flutter'd--fell An essence--powerful to destroy A soul that knew it well.
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.
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And so it lies happily, Bathing in many A dream of the truth And the beauty of Annie-- Drowned in a bath Of the tresses of Annie.
Page 37
I was ambitious--have you known The passion, father? You have not: A cottager, I mark'd a throne Of half the world as all my own, And murmur'd at such lowly lot-- But, just like any other dream, Upon the vapour of the dew My own had past, did not the beam Of beauty which did.
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I reach'd my home--my home no more-- For all had flown who made it so.