Poemas

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 7

misma agrega: «Usaba un bigote negro, esmeradamente cuidado, pero que
no cubría completamente una expresión ligeramente contraída de la boca y
una tensión ocasional del labio superior, que se asemejaba a una
expresión de mofa. Esta mofa era fácilmente excitada y se manifestaba
por un movimiento del labio, apenas perceptible, y sin embargo,
intensamente expresivo. No había en ella nada de malevolencia, pero sí
mucho sarcasmo». Sábese, pues, que aquella alma potente y extraña estaba
encerrada en hermoso vaso. Parece que la distinción y dotes físicas
deberían ser nativas en todos los portadores de la lira. ¿Apolo, el
crinado numen lírico, no es el prototipo de la belleza viril? Mas no
todos sus hijos nacen con dote tan espléndido. Los privilegiados se
llaman Goethe, Byron, Lamartine, Poe.

Nuestro poeta, por su organización vigorosa y cultivada, pudo resistir
esa terrible dolencia que un médico escritor llama con gran propiedad
«la enfermedad del ensueño». Era un sublime apasionado, un nervioso, uno
de esos divinos semilocos necesarios para el progreso humano,
lamentables cristos del arte, que por amor al eterno ideal tienen su
calle de la amargura, sus espinas y su cruz. Nació con la adorable llama
de la poesía, y ella le alimentaba al propio tiempo que era su martirio.
Desde niño quedó huérfano y le recogió un hombre que jamás podría
conocer el valor intelectual de su hijo adoptivo. El Sr. Allan--cuyo
nombre pasará al porvenir al brillo del nombre del poeta--jamás pudo
imaginarse que el pobre muchacho recitador de versos que alegraba las
veladas de su _home_, fuese más tarde un egregio príncipe del Arte. En
Poe reina el _ensueño_ desde la niñez. Cuando el viaje de su protector
le lleva a Londres, la escuela del dómine Brondeby es para él como un
lugar fantástico que despierta en su sér extrañas reminiscencias;
después, en la fuerza de su genio, el recuerdo de aquella morada y del
viejo profesor han de hacerle producir una de sus subyugadoras páginas.
Por una parte, posee en su fuerte cerebro la facultad musical; por otra,
la fuerza matemática. Su _ensueño_ está poblado de quimeras y de cifras
como la carta de un astrólogo. Vuelto a América, vémosle en la escuela
de Clarke, en Richmond, en donde al mismo tiempo que se nutre de
clásicos y recita odas latinas, boxea y llega a ser algo como un
_champion_ estudiantil; en la carrera hubiera dejado atrás a Atalanta,
y aspiraba a los lauros natatorios de Byron. Pero si brilla y descuella
intelectual y físicamente entre sus compañeros, los hijos de familia de
la fofa aristocracia del lugar miran por encima del hombro al hijo

Last Page Next Page

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

Page 9
"Booshoh he!"--as, at the conclusion of an hour, some object at the extremity of the rope became indistinctly visible--"Booshoh he!" was the exclamation which burst from the lips of Ben-Levi.
Page 24
--Very often, in company with these sharpers, I observed an order of men somewhat different in habits, but still birds of a kindred feather.
Page 34
He was old enough to take care of himself.
Page 36
Here goes, then--ahem!" At this the little old gentleman seemed pleased--God only knows why.
Page 47
Shuttleworthy had distinctly avowed to the said nephew his irrevocable determination of rescinding the will originally made, and of cutting him off with a shilling.
Page 51
I saw at once that all the criminating discoveries arose, either directly or indirectly, from himself.
Page 53
First of all it was up wid the windy in a jiffy, and thin she threw open her two peepers to the itmost, and thin it was a little gould spy-glass that she clapped tight to one o' them and divil may burn me if it didn't spake to me as plain as a peeper cud spake, and says it, through the spy-glass: "Och! the tip o' the mornin' to ye, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, mavourneen; and it's a nate gintleman that ye are, sure enough, and it's mesilf and me forten jist that'll be at yur sarvice, dear, inny time o' day at all at all for the asking.
Page 65
Actuated by these enlightened views, our hero bade the gentleman sit down, while he himself took occasion to throw some fagots upon the fire, and place upon the now re-established table some bottles of Mousseux.
Page 82
I then questioned the Mummy about burning-glasses and lenses, and, in general, about the manufacture of glass; but I had not made an end of my queries before the silent member again touched me quietly on the elbow, and begged me for God's sake to take a peep at Diodorus Siculus.
Page 113
"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;-- 'Tis 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 an instant stopped.
Page 125
us on, by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sybillic splendor 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 128
It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE;-- And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
Page 129
Its letters, although naturally lying .
Page 143
" 3.
Page 147
"We rule the hearts of mightiest men--we rule "With a despotic sway all giant minds.
Page 156
(aside.
Page 165
Oh, Lalage! (throwing himself upon his knee.
Page 183
** The Hyacinth.
Page 188
Of rosy head, that towering far away Into the sunlit 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 204
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 .