The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 184

own nativity.

It may seem strange that in spite of the continual anxiety occasioned me
by the rivalry of Wilson, and his intolerable spirit of contradiction,
I could not bring myself to hate him altogether. We had, to be sure,
nearly every day a quarrel in which, yielding me publicly the palm of
victory, he, in some manner, contrived to make me feel that it was he
who had deserved it; yet a sense of pride on my part, and a veritable
dignity on his own, kept us always upon what are called "speaking
terms," while there were many points of strong congeniality in our
tempers, operating to awake me in a sentiment which our position alone,
perhaps, prevented from ripening into friendship. It is difficult,
indeed, to define, or even to describe, my real feelings towards
him. They formed a motley and heterogeneous admixture;--some petulant
animosity, which was not yet hatred, some esteem, more respect, much
fear, with a world of uneasy curiosity. To the moralist it will be
unnecessary to say, in addition, that Wilson and myself were the most
inseparable of companions.

It was no doubt the anomalous state of affairs existing between us,
which turned all my attacks upon him, (and they were many, either open
or covert) into the channel of banter or practical joke (giving pain
while assuming the aspect of mere fun) rather than into a more serious
and determined hostility. But my endeavours on this head were by no
means uniformly successful, even when my plans were the most wittily
concocted; for my namesake had much about him, in character, of that
unassuming and quiet austerity which, while enjoying the poignancy of
its own jokes, has no heel of Achilles in itself, and absolutely refuses
to be laughed at. I could find, indeed, but one vulnerable point,
and that, lying in a personal peculiarity, arising, perhaps, from
constitutional disease, would have been spared by any antagonist less
at his wit's end than myself;--my rival had a weakness in the faucal or
guttural organs, which precluded him from raising his voice at any time
above a very low whisper. Of this defect I did not fail to take what
poor advantage lay in my power.

Wilson's retaliations in kind were many; and there was one form of his
practical wit that disturbed me beyond measure. How his sagacity first
discovered at all that so petty a thing would vex me, is a question I
never could solve; but, having discovered, he habitually practised the
annoyance. I had always felt aversion to my uncourtly patronymic, and
its very common, if not plebeian

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

Page 10
It appalled, and at the same time so confounded and bewildered me, that many days elapsed before I could make up my mind to communicate the circumstances to my friend.
Page 23
When impeded in their progress, these people suddenly ceased muttering, but re-doubled their gesticulations, and awaited, with an absent and overdone smile upon the lips, the course of the persons impeding them.
Page 36
Nothing could be more reverend than his whole appearance; for he not only had on a full suit of black, but his shirt was perfectly clean and the collar turned very neatly down over a white cravat, while his hair was parted in front like a girl's.
Page 40
Shuttleworthy seldom, if ever, visited "Old Charley," and never was known to take a meal in his house, still this did not prevent the two friends from being exceedingly intimate, as I have just observed; for "Old Charley" never let a day pass without stepping in three or four times to see how his neighbour came on, and very often he would stay to breakfast or tea, and almost always to dinner, and then the amount of wine that was made way with by the two cronies at a sitting, it would really be a difficult thing to ascertain.
Page 46
Having quickly examined it he was observed, too, to make a sort of half attempt at concealing it in his coat pocket; but this action was noticed, as I say, and consequently prevented, when the object picked up was found to be a Spanish knife which a dozen persons at once recognized as belonging to Mr.
Page 52
" And shud ye be wantin' to diskiver who is the pink of purliteness quite, and the laider of the hot tun in the houl city o' Lonon--why it's jist mesilf.
Page 85
We looked, with profound anxiety, for an answer--but in vain.
Page 88
My cheek is cold and white, alas! My heart beats loud and fast: O, press it close to shine again, Where it will break at last.
Page 95
Soft airs and song, and the light and bloom, Should keep them lingering by my tomb.
Page 103
_ Then when nature around me is smiling, The last smile which answers to mine, I do not believe it beguiling, Because it reminds me of shine; And when winds are at war with the ocean, As the breasts I believed in with me, If their billows excite an emotion, It is that they bear me from _thee.
Page 108
No prepossession for the mere antique (and in this case we can imagine no other prepossession) should induce us to dignify with.
Page 116
" And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted--nevermore! Published 1845.
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 140
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout, Flit through thy chamber in and out, And wave the curtain canopy So fitfully--so fearfully-- Above the closed and fringed lid 'Neath which thy slumb'ring sould lies hid, That o'er the floor and down the wall, Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall! Oh, lady dear, hast thous no fear? Why and what art thou dreaming here? Sure thou art come p'er far-off seas, A wonder to these garden trees! Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress! Strange, above all, thy length of tress, And this all solemn silentness! The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, Which is enduring, so be deep! Heaven have her in its sacred keep! This chamber changed for one more holy, This bed for one more melancholy, I pray to God that she may lie Forever with unopened eye, While the dim sheeted ghosts go by! My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, As it is lasting, so be deep! Soft may the worms about her creep! Far in the forest, dim and old, For her may some tall vault unfold-- Some vault that oft hath flung its black And winged pannels fluttering back, Triumphant, o'er the crested palls, Of her grand family funerals-- Some sepulchre, remote, alone, Against whose portal she hath thrown, In childhood, many an idle stone-- Some tomb fromout whose sounding door She ne'er shall force an echo more, Thrilling to think, poor child of sin! It was the.
Page 146
THOU wast all that to me, love, For which my soul did pine-- A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine.
Page 147
(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,) I kneel, an altered and an humble man, Amid thy shadows, and so drink within My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory! Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld! Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night! I feel ye now--I feel ye in your strength-- O spells more sure than e'er Judaean king Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane! O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee Ever drew down from out the quiet stars! Here, where a hero fell, a column falls! Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold, A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat! Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle! Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled, Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home, Lit by the wanlight--wan light of the horned moon, The swift and silent lizard of the stones! But stay! these walls--these ivy-clad arcades-- These mouldering plinths--these sad and blackened shafts-- These vague entablatures--this crumbling frieze-- These shattered cornices--this wreck--this ruin-- These stones--alas! these gray stones--are they all-- All of the famed, and the colossal left By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me? "Not all"--the Echoes answer me--"not all! "Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever "From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise, "As melody from Memnon to the Sun.
Page 148
In the monarch Thought's dominion-- It stood there! Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair.
Page 189
" In the valley of Siddim were five--Adrah, Zeboin, Zoar, Sodom and Gomorrah.
Page 197
"Iante, dearest, see! how dim that ray! How lovely 'tis to look so far away! * There be tears of perfect moan .
Page 198
The last spot of Earth's orb I trod upon *Was a proud temple call'd the Parthenon-- More beauty clung around her column'd wall **Than ev'n thy glowing bosom beats withal, And when old Time my wing did disenthral Thence sprang I--as the eagle from his tower, And years I left behind me in an hour.