The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 48

in a few days, is not a
small matter, as times go.

'The Literary World' speaks of him, confidently, as a native of Presburg
(misled, perhaps, by the account in 'The Home Journal') but I am pleased
in being able to state positively, since I have it from his own lips,
that he was born in Utica, in the State of New York, although both his
parents, I believe, are of Presburg descent. The family is connected, in
some way, with Maelzel, of Automaton-chess-player memory. In person, he
is short and stout, with large, fat, blue eyes, sandy hair and whiskers,
a wide but pleasing mouth, fine teeth, and I think a Roman nose. There
is some defect in one of his feet. His address is frank, and his whole
manner noticeable for bonhomie. Altogether, he looks, speaks, and
acts as little like 'a misanthrope' as any man I ever saw. We were
fellow-sojourners for a week about six years ago, at Earl's Hotel, in
Providence, Rhode Island; and I presume that I conversed with him, at
various times, for some three or four hours altogether. His principal
topics were those of the day, and nothing that fell from him led me
to suspect his scientific attainments. He left the hotel before me,
intending to go to New York, and thence to Bremen; it was in the latter
city that his great discovery was first made public; or, rather, it was
there that he was first suspected of having made it. This is about all
that I personally know of the now immortal Von Kempelen; but I have
thought that even these few details would have interest for the public.

There can be little question that most of the marvellous rumors afloat
about this affair are pure inventions, entitled to about as much credit
as the story of Aladdin's lamp; and yet, in a case of this kind, as in
the case of the discoveries in California, it is clear that the truth
may be stranger than fiction. The following anecdote, at least, is so
well authenticated, that we may receive it implicitly.

Von Kempelen had never been even tolerably well off during his residence
at Bremen; and often, it was well known, he had been put to extreme
shifts in order to raise trifling sums. When the great excitement
occurred about the forgery on the house of Gutsmuth & Co., suspicion
was directed toward Von Kempelen, on account of his having purchased
a considerable property in Gasperitch Lane, and his refusing, when
questioned, to explain how he became possessed of the purchase money. He
was

Last Page Next Page

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.
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 2
Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows: Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-- Of the bells-- Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells-- In the clamour and the clangour of the bells! IV.
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 6
" Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt.
Page 11
In the monarch Thought's dominion-- It stood there! Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair! Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow, (This--all this--was in the olden Time long ago,) And every gentle air that dallied, In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A wingèd odour went away.
Page 12
Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie.
Page 14
_ULALUME_ The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere-- The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir-- It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
Page 17
But he grew old-- This knight so bold-- And o'er his heart a shadow Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado.
Page 22
Young flowers were whispering in melody To happy flowers that night--and tree to tree; Fountains were.
Page 24
On the harmony there? Ligeia! wherever Thy image may be, No magic shall sever Thy music from thee.
Page 25
"The last spot of Earth's orb I trod upon Was a proud temple called 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.
Page 27
] Because I feel that, in the Heavens above, The angels, whispering to one another, Can find, among their burning terms of love, None so devotional as that of "Mother," Therefore by that dear name I long have called you-- You who are more than mother unto me, And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you In setting my Virginia's spirit free.
Page 31
That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame-- As such it well may pass-- Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame In the breast of him, alas! Who saw thee on that bridal day, When that deep blush _would_ come o'er thee, Though happiness around thee lay; The world all love before thee.
Page 32
In the morning they arise, And their moony covering Is soaring in the skies, With the tempests as they toss, Like-almost anything-- Or a yellow Albatross.
Page 33
By the lakes that thus outspread Their lone waters, lone and dead,-- Their sad waters, sad and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily-- By the mountains--near the river Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,-- By the grey woods,--by the swamp Where the toad and the newt encamp,-- By the dismal tarns and pools Where dwell the Ghouls,-- By each spot the most unholy-- In each nook.
Page 36
Of Earth may shrive me of the sin Unearthly pride hath revell'd in-- I have no time to dote or dream: You call it hope--that fire of fire! It is but agony of desire: If I _can_ hope--O God! I can-- Its fount is holier--more divine-- I would not call thee fool, old man, But such is not a gift of thine.
Page 37
I have no words--alas!--to tell The loveliness of loving well! Nor would I now attempt to trace The more than beauty of a face Whose lineaments, upon my mind, Are----shadows on th' unstable wind Thus I remember having dwelt Some page of early lore upon, With loitering eye, till I have felt The letters--with their meaning--melt To fantasies--with none.
Page 38
'Twas sunset: when the sun will part There comes a sullenness of heart To him who still would look upon The glory of the summer sun.
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.