The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 214

the indications of the presence of Eleonora were still
given me in the silent hours of the night. Suddenly these manifestations
they ceased, and the world grew dark before mine eyes, and I stood
aghast at the burning thoughts which possessed, at the terrible
temptations which beset me; for there came from some far, far distant
and unknown land, into the gay court of the king I served, a maiden to
whose beauty my whole recreant heart yielded at once--at whose footstool
I bowed down without a struggle, in the most ardent, in the most abject
worship of love. What, indeed, was my passion for the young girl of
the valley in comparison with the fervor, and the delirium, and the
spirit-lifting ecstasy of adoration with which I poured out my whole
soul in tears at the feet of the ethereal Ermengarde?--Oh, bright
was the seraph Ermengarde! and in that knowledge I had room for none
other.--Oh, divine was the angel Ermengarde! and as I looked down into
the depths of her memorial eyes, I thought only of them--and of her.

I wedded;--nor dreaded the curse I had invoked; and its bitterness was
not visited upon me. And once--but once again in the silence of the
night; there came through my lattice the soft sighs which had forsaken
me; and they modelled themselves into familiar and sweet voice, saying:

"Sleep in peace!--for the Spirit of Love reigneth and ruleth, and, in
taking to thy passionate heart her who is Ermengarde, thou art absolved,
for reasons which shall be made known to thee in Heaven, of thy vows
unto Eleonora."


Notes -- Scheherezade

(*1) The coralites.

(*2) "One of the most remarkable natural curiosities in Texas is a
petrified forest, near the head of Pasigno river. It consists of several
hundred trees, in an erect position, all turned to stone. Some trees,
now growing, are partly petrified. This is a startling fact for natural
philosophers, and must cause them to modify the existing theory of

This account, at first discredited, has since been corroborated by the
discovery of a completely petrified forest, near the head waters of the
Cheyenne, or Chienne river, which has its source in the Black Hills of
the rocky chain.

There is scarcely, perhaps, a spectacle on the surface of the globe more
remarkable, either in a geological or picturesque point of view than
that presented by the petrified forest, near Cairo. The traveller,
having passed the tombs of the caliphs, just beyond the gates of the
city, proceeds to the southward, nearly at right angles to the road
across the desert to

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Text Comparison with The Bells, and Other Poems

Page 0
Hear the sledges with the bells-- Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars, that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort if Runic rhyme, To the tintinabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells,-- From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
Page 1
Hear the loud alarum bells-- Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavour.
Page 3
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 A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells! And he dances, and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells-- Of the bells: Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells Of the bells, bells, bells-- To the sobbing of the bells; Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To.
Page 4
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 5
One dwells in lonely places, Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces, Some human memories and tearful lore, Render him terrorless: his name's "No More.
Page 6
upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
Page 7
" This.
Page 8
" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.
Page 13
An opiate vapour, dewy, dim, Exhales from out her golden rim, And, softly dripping, drop by drop, Upon the quiet mountain top, Steals drowsily and musically Into the universal valley.
Page 21
As sprang that yellow star from downy hours Up rose the maiden from her shrine of flowers, And bent o'er sheeny mountains and dim plain Her way, but left not yet her Therasaean reign.
Page 23
gushing music as they fell In many a star-lit grove, or moon-lit dell; Yet silence came upon material things-- Fair flowers, bright waterfalls and angel wings-- And sound alone that from the spirit sprang Bore burthen to the charm the maiden sang: "'Neath the blue-bell or streamer-- Or tufted wild spray That keeps, from the dreamer, The moonbeam away-- Bright beings! that ponder, With half closing eyes, On the stars which your wonder Hath drawn from the skies, Till they glance thro' the shade, and Come down to your brow Like----eyes of the maiden Who calls on you now-- Arise! from your dreaming In violet bowers, To duty beseeming These star-litten hours-- And shake from your tresses Encumber'd with dew The breath of those kisses That cumber them too-- (O! how, without you, Love! Could angels be blest?) Those kisses of true Love That lull'd ye to rest! Up!--shake from your wing Each hindering thing: The dew of the night-- It would weigh down your flight; And true love caresses-- O, leave them apart! They are light on the tresses, But lead on the heart.
Page 24
On the harmony there? Ligeia! wherever Thy image may be, No magic shall sever Thy music from thee.
Page 26
Frances Sargent Osgood] Thou wouldst be loved?--then let thy heart From its present pathway part not! Being everything which now thou art, Be nothing which thou art not.
Page 27
On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was Rome.
Page 30
The breeze, the breath of God, is still, And the mist upon the.
Page 31
Tottering above In her highest noon, The enamoured moon Blushes with love, While, to listen, the red levin (With the rapid Pleiads, even, Which were seven,) Pauses in Heaven.
Page 33
shafts-- These vague entablatures--this crumbling frieze-- These shattered cornices--this wreck--this ruin-- These stones--alas! these grey 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 36
[Illustration: Tamerlane] I have not always been as now: The fever'd diadem on my brow I claim'd and won usurpingly-- Hath not the same fierce heirdom given Rome to the Cæsar--this to me? The heritage of a kingly mind, And a proud spirit which hath striven Triumphantly with human kind.
Page 37
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 Of beauty which did.
Page 39
I pass'd from out its mossy door, And, tho' my tread was soft and low, A voice came from the threshold stone Of one whom I had earlier known-- O, I defy thee, Hell, to show On beds of fire that burn below, A humbler heart--a deeper woe.