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 72

to get up something by diving
into the cabin. This proposition we hailed with all the delight which
reviving hope could inspire. He proceeded immediately to strip off his
clothes with the exception of his pantaloons; and a strong rope was
then carefully fastened around his middle, being brought up over his
shoulders in such a manner that there was no possibility of its
slipping. The undertaking was one of great difficulty and danger; for,
as we could hardly expect to find much, if any provision in the cabin
itself, it was necessary that the diver, after letting himself down,
should make a turn to the right, and proceed under water a distance of
ten or twelve feet, in a narrow passage, to the storeroom, and return,
without drawing breath.

Everything being ready, Peters now descended into the cabin, going down
the companion-ladder until the water reached his chin. He then plunged
in, head first, turning to the right as he plunged, and endeavouring to
make his way to the storeroom. In this first attempt, however, he was
altogether unsuccessful. In less than half a minute after his going
down we felt the rope jerked violently (the signal we had agreed upon
when he desired to be drawn up). We accordingly drew him up instantly,
but so incautiously as to bruise him badly against the ladder. He had
brought nothing with him, and had been unable to penetrate more than a
very little way into the passage, owing to the constant exertions he
found it necessary to make in order to keep himself from floating up
against the deck. Upon getting out he was very much exhausted, and had
to rest full fifteen minutes before he could again venture to descend.

The second attempt met with even worse success; for he remained so long
under water without giving the signal, that, becoming alarmed for his
safety, we drew him out without it, and found that he was almost at the
last gasp, having, as he said, repeatedly jerked at the rope without
our feeling it. This was probably owing to a portion of it having
become entangled in the balustrade at the foot of the ladder. This
balustrade was, indeed, so much in the way, that we determined to
remove it, if possible, before proceeding with our design. As we had no
means of getting it away except by main force, we all descended into
the water as far as we could on the ladder, and, giving a pull against
it with our united strength, succeeded in breaking it down.

The third attempt was equally unsuccessful

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Text Comparison with The Bells, and Other Poems

Page 0
O----d_ _Bridal Ballad_ _To my Mother_ _To Helen (Helen, thy beauty is to me)_ _The Valley of Unrest_ _The Lake--To----_ _The Happiest Day, the Happiest Hour_ _Catholic Hymn_ _To ---- ---- (Not long ago, the writer of these lines)_ _Evening Star_ _Stanzas_ _Spirits of the Dead_ _Israfel_ _Song (I saw thee on thy bridal day)_ _To---- (The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see)_ _Fairy-land_ _The Coliseum_ _Dreamland_ _For Annie_ _Alone_ _Tamerlane_ ILLUSTRATIONS _The Bells_ _The Bells_ _The Bells_ _Annabel Lee_ _Silence_ _The Raven_ _To One in Paradise_ _Lenore_ _To Helen_ _The Haunted Palace_ _The City in the Sea_ _The Sleeper_ _Ulalume_ _Eldorado_ _The Conqueror Worm_ _To the River_ _Al Aaraaf_ _Al Aaraaf_ _Bridal Ballad_ _To Helen_ _The Valley of Unrest_ _To ---- ---- (Mrs.
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Hear the tolling of the bells-- Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats .
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
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee Respite--respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.
Page 12
Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie.
Page 14
Here once, through an alley Titanic, Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul-- Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
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.
Page 21
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
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.
Page 24
Thou hast bound many eyes In a dreamy sleep-- But the strains still arise Which _thy_ vigilance keep-- The sound of the rain, Which leaps down to the flower-- And dances again In the rhythm of the shower-- The murmur that springs From the growing of grass Are the music of things-- But are modell'd, alas!-- Away, then, my dearest, Oh! hie thee away To the springs that lie clearest Beneath the moon-ray-- To lone lake that smiles, In its dream of deep rest, At the many star-isles That enjewel its breast-- Where wild flowers, creeping, Have mingled their shade, On its margin is sleeping Full many a maid-- Some have left the cool glade, and Have slept with the bee-- Arouse them, my maiden, On moorland and lea-- Go! breathe on their slumber, All softly in ear, Thy musical number They slumbered to hear-- For what can awaken An angel so soon, Whose sleep hath been taken Beneath the cold moon, As the spell which no slumber Of witchery may test, The rhythmical number Which lull'd him to rest?" Spirits in wing, and angels to the view, A thousand seraphs burst th' Empyrean thro' Young dreams still hovering on their drowsy flight-- Seraphs in all but "Knowledge," the keen.
Page 26
" "We came--and to thy Earth--but not to us Be given our lady's bidding to discuss: We came, my love; around, above, below, Gay fire-fly of the night we come and go, Nor ask a reason save the angel-nod _She_ grants to us, as granted by her God-- But, Angelo, than thine grey Time unfurl'd Never his fairy wing o'er fairier world! Dim was its little disk, and angel eyes Alone could see the phantom in the skies, When first Al Aaraaf knew her course to be Headlong thitherward o'er the starry sea-- But when its glory swell'd upon the sky, As glowing Beauty's bust beneath man's eye, We paused before the heritage of men, And thy star trembled--as doth Beauty then!" Thus, in discourse, the lovers whiled away The night that waned and waned and brought no day.
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The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand.
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2 Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought To a fever by the moonbeam that hangs o'er, But I will half believe that wild light fraught With more of sovereignty than ancient lore Hath ever told--or is it of a thought The unembodied essence, and no more That with a quickening spell doth o'er us pass As dew of the night-time o'er the summer grass? 3 Doth o'er us pass, when, as th' expanding eye To the loved object--so the tear to the lid Will start, which lately slept in apathy? And yet it need not be--(that object) hid From us in life--but common--which doth lie Each hour before us--but _then_ only, bid With a strange sound, as of a harp-string broken, To awake us--'Tis a symbol and a token 4 Of what in other worlds shall be--and given In beauty by our God, to those alone Who otherwise would fall from life and Heaven Drawn by their heart's passion, and that tone, That high tone of the spirit which hath striven Tho' not with Faith--with godliness--whose throne With desperate energy 't hath beaten down; Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown.
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_SONG_ I saw thee on thy bridal day-- When a burning blush came o'er thee, Though happiness around thee lay, The world all love before thee: And in thine eye a kindling light (Whatever it might be) Was all on Earth my aching sight Of Loveliness could see.
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They use that moon no more For the same end as before-- Videlicet a tent-- Which I think extravagant: Its atomies, however, Into a shower dissever, Of which those butterflies, Of Earth, who seek the skies, And so come down again (Never-contented things!) Have brought a specimen Upon their quivering wings.
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" _DREAMLAND_ By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule-- From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, Out of SPACE--out of TIME.
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By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, On a black throne reigns upright, I have wandered home but newly From this ultimate dim Thule.
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And I lie so composedly, Now, in my bed, (Knowing her love) That you fancy me dead-- And I rest so contentedly, Now, in my bed, (With her love at my breast) That you fancy me dead-- That you shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead;-- But my heart it is brighter Than all of the many Stars in the sky, For it sparkles with Annie-- It glows with the light Of the love of my Annie-- With the thought of the light Of the eyes of my Annie.
Page 36
So late from Heaven--that dew--it fell ('Mid dreams of an unholy night) Upon me with the touch of Hell, While the red flashing of the light From clouds that hung, like banners, o'er, Appeared to my half-closing eye The pageantry of monarchy, And the deep trumpet-thunder's roar Came hurriedly upon me, telling Of human battle, where my voice, My own voice, silly child!--was swelling (O! how my spirit would rejoice, And leap within me at the cry) The battle-cry of Victory! The rain came down upon my head Unshelter'd--and the heavy wind Rendered me mad and deaf and blind.
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Young Love's first lesson is--the heart: For 'mid that sunshine, and those smiles, When, from our little cares apart, And laughing at her girlish wiles, I'd throw me on her throbbing breast, And pour my spirit out in tears-- There was no need to speak the rest-- No need to quiet any fears Of her--who ask'd no reason why, But turned on me her quiet eye! Yet _more_ than worthy of the love My spirit struggled with, and strove, When, on the mountain peak, alone, Ambition lent it a new tone-- I had no being--but in thee: The world, and all it did contain In the earth--the air--the sea-- Its joy--its little lot of pain That was new pleasure--the ideal, Dim vanities of dreams by night-- And dimmer nothings which were real-- (Shadows--and a more shadowy light!) Parted upon their misty wings, And, so, confusedly, became Thine image, and--a name--a name! Two separate--yet most intimate things.