The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket Comprising the details of a mutiny and atrocious butchery on board the American brig Grampus, on her way to the South Seas, in the month of June, 1827.

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 43

of certainty. He determined,
nevertheless, to force a passage, if possible, to the box, and at least
ascertain beyond a doubt the truth of his surmises. He pushed on for
some time in a most pitiable state of anxiety, until, at length, he
found the pathway utterly blocked up, and that there was no possibility
of making any farther way by the course in which he had set out.
Overcome now by his feelings, he threw himself among the lumber in
despair, and wept like a child. It was at this period that he heard the
crash occasioned by the bottle which I had thrown down. Fortunate,
indeed, was it that the incident occurred--for, upon this incident,
trivial as it appears, the thread of my destiny depended. Many years
elapsed, however, before I was aware of this fact. A natural shame and
regret for his weakness and indecision prevented Augustus from
confiding to me at once what a more intimate and unreserved communion
afterward induced him to reveal. Upon finding his further progress in
the hold impeded by obstacles which he could not overcome, he had
resolved to abandon his attempt at reaching me, and return at once to
the forecastle. Before condemning him entirely on this head, the
harassing circumstances which embarrassed him should be taken into
consideration. The night was fast wearing away, and his absence from
the forecastle might be discovered; and, indeed, would necessarily be
so, if he should fail to get back to the berth by daybreak. His candle
was expiring in the socket, and there would be the greatest difficulty
in retracing his way to the hatchway in the dark. It must be allowed,
too, that he had every good reason to believe me dead; in which event
no benefit could result to me from his reaching the box, and a world of
danger would be encountered to no purpose by himself. He had repeatedly
called, and I had made him no answer. I had been now eleven days and
nights with no more water than that contained in the jug which he had
left with me, a supply which it was not at all probable I had hoarded
in the beginning of my confinement, as I had had every cause to expect
a speedy release. The atmosphere of the hold, too, must have appeared
to him, coming from the comparatively open air of the steerage, of a
nature absolutely poisonous, and by far more intolerable than it had
seemed to me upon my first taking up my quarters in the box--the
hatchways at that time having been constantly

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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.
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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.
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the rolling of the bells-- Of the bells, bells, bells: To the tolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-- Bells, bells, bells-- To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
Page 6
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-- This it is, and nothing more.
Page 7
" But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Page 8
" "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!-- Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-- On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore-- Is there--_is_ there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.
Page 9
Ah, dream to 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 gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, 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 thunder-blasted tree Or the stricken eagle soar! And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy grey eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams-- In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams.
Page 13
_THE SLEEPER_ At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon.
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.
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_SONNET--TO SCIENCE_ Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art! Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
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_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.
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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 seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued.
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What though that light, thro' storm and night, So trembled from afar-- What could there be more purely bright In Truth's day-star? _AL AARAAF_ PART I.
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Within the centre of that hall to breathe, She paused and panted, Zanthe! all beneath, The fairy light that kiss'd her golden hair And long'd to rest, yet could but sparkle there.
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A maiden-angel and her seraph-lover-- O! where (and ye may seek the wide skies over) Was Love, the blind, near sober Duty known? Unguided Love hath fallen--'mid "tears of perfect moan.
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But when the Night had thrown her pall Upon that spot, as upon all, And the mystic wind went by Murmuring in melody-- Then--ah then I would awake To the terror of the lone lake Yet that terror was not fright, But a tremulous delight-- A feeling not the jewelled mine Could teach or bribe me to define-- Nor Love--although the Love were thine.
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And I! my spells are broken.
Page 31
How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries! _ISRAFEL_ And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures.
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_FAIRY-LAND_ Dim vales--and shadowy floods-- And cloudy-looking woods, Whose forms we can't discover For the tears that drip all over Huge moons there wax and wane-- Again--again--again-- Every moment of the night-- Forever changing places-- And they put out the star-light With the breath from their pale faces.
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On mountain soil I first drew life: The mists of the Taglay have shed Nightly their dews upon my head, And, I believe, the wingèd strife And tumult of the headlong air Have nestled in my very hair.