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 76

once the origin of the sound. We saw the tall stout figure still
leaning on the bulwark, and still nodding his head to and fro, but his
face was now turned from us so that we could not behold it. His arms
were extended over the rail, and the palms of his hands fell outward.
His knees were lodged upon a stout rope, tightly stretched, and
reaching from the heel of the bowsprit to a cathead. On his back, from
which a portion of the shirt had been torn, leaving it bare, there sat
a huge seagull, busily gorging itself with the horrible flesh, its bill
and talons deep buried, and its white plumage spattered all over with
blood. As the brig moved further round so as to bring us close in view,
the bird, with much apparent difficulty, drew out its crimsoned head,
and, after eying us for a moment as if stupified, arose lazily from the
body upon which it had been feasting, and, flying directly above our
deck, hovered there a while with a portion of clotted and liver-like
substance in its beak. The horrid morsel dropped at length with a
sullen splash immediately at the feet of Parker. May God forgive me,
but now, for the first time, there flashed through my mind a thought, a
thought which I will not mention, and I felt myself making a step
towards the ensanguined spot. I looked upward, and the eyes of Augustus
met my own with a degree of intense and eager meaning which immediately
brought me to my senses. I sprang forward quickly, and, with a deep
shudder, threw the frightful thing into the sea.

The body from which it had been taken, resting as it did upon the rope,
had been easily swayed to and fro by the exertions of the carnivorous
bird, and it was this motion which had at first impressed us with the
belief of its being alive. As the gull relieved it of its weight, it
swung round and fell partially over, so that the face was fully
discovered. Never, surely, was any object so terribly full of awe! The
eyes were gone, and the whole flesh around the mouth, leaving the teeth
utterly naked. This, then, was the smile which had cheered us on to
hope! this the--but I forbear. The brig, as I have already told, passed
under our stern, and made its way slowly but steadily to leeward. With
her and with her terrible crew went all our gay visions of deliverance
and joy. Deliberately as she went by, we might

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

Page 26
As I endeavored, during the brief minute of my original survey, to form some analysis of the meaning conveyed, there arose confusedly and paradoxically within my mind, the ideas of vast mental power, of caution, of penuriousness, of avarice, of coolness, of malice, of blood thirstiness, of triumph, of merriment, of excessive terror, of intense--of supreme despair.
Page 60
For example, there are few men of extraordinary profundity who are found wanting in an inclination for the bottle.
Page 61
It is, however, true that much of this habitual respect might have been attributed to the personal appearance of the metaphysician.
Page 65
any one of those causes which might naturally be supposed to have had an influence.
Page 68
Page 75
Page 94
It is but the result of writing with the understanding, or with the instinct, that _the tone, _in composition, should always be that which the mass of mankind would adopt--and must perpetually vary, of course, with the occasion.
Page 108
sense wherein Wordsworth and Coleridge are so.
Page 115
" "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore-- Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-- Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.
Page 121
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, Rolls A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells! .
Page 128
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me; Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud, chilling And killing my ANNABEL LEE.
Page 131
[The above was addressed to the poet's mother-in-law, Mrs.
Page 138
No rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town; But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently-- Gleams up the pinnacles far and free-- Up domes--up spires--up kingly halls-- Up fanes--up Babylon-like walls-- Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers Of scultured ivy and stone flowers-- Up many and many a marvellous shrine Whose wreathed friezes intertwine The viol, the violet, and the vine.
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Page 173
I say established; for it is with literature as with law or empire-an established name is an estate in tenure, or a throne in possession.
Page 194
Are the music of things-- But are modell'd, alas!-- Away, then my dearest, O! hie thee away To 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, The musical number They slumber'd to hear-- For what can awaken An angel so soon * The wild bee will not sleep in the shade if there be moonlight.
Page 208
Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I me thee stand, The agate lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy-land! 1831.
Page 218
DREAMS Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream! My spirit not awak'ning, till the beam Of an Eternity should bring the morrow: Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow, 'Twere better than the dull reality Of waking life to him whose heart shall be, And hath been ever, on the chilly earth, A chaos of deep passion from his birth! But should it be--that dream eternally Continuing--as dreams have been to me In my young boyhood--should it thus be given, 'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven! For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright In the summer sky; in dreamy fields of light, And left unheedingly my very heart In climes of mine imagining--apart From mine own home, with beings that have been Of mine own thought--what more could I have seen? 'Twas once.
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Like the light of stars serene; Like the mellow midnight splendor Of the Night's irradiate queen.