The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 3

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 177

one bewildered in
a dream, the thing that was enshrouded advanced boldly and palpably into
the middle of the apartment.

I trembled not--I stirred not--for a crowd of unutterable fancies
connected with the air, the stature, the demeanor of the figure, rushing
hurriedly through my brain, had paralyzed--had chilled me into stone. I
stirred not--but gazed upon the apparition. There was a mad disorder
in my thoughts--a tumult unappeasable. Could it, indeed, be the
living Rowena who confronted me? Could it indeed be Rowena at all--the
fair-haired, the blue-eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion of Tremaine? Why, why
should I doubt it? The bandage lay heavily about the mouth--but then
might it not be the mouth of the breathing Lady of Tremaine? And the
cheeks--there were the roses as in her noon of life--yes, these might
indeed be the fair cheeks of the living Lady of Tremaine. And the chin,
with its dimples, as in health, might it not be hers?--but had she then
grown taller since her malady? What inexpressible madness seized me with
that thought? One bound, and I had reached her feet! Shrinking from my
touch, she let fall from her head, unloosened, the ghastly cerements
which had confined it, and there streamed forth, into the rushing
atmosphere of the chamber, huge masses of long and dishevelled hair; it
was blacker than the raven wings of the midnight! And now slowly opened
the eyes of the figure which stood before me. “Here then, at least,”
I shrieked aloud, “can I never--can I never be mistaken--these are the
full, and the black, and the wild eyes--of my lost love--of the lady--of
the LADY LIGEIA.”




MORELLA

Itself, by itself, solely, one everlasting, and single.

PLATO: SYMPOS.

WITH a feeling of deep yet most singular affection I regarded my friend
Morella. Thrown by accident into her society many years ago, my soul
from our first meeting, burned with fires it had never before known; but
the fires were not of Eros, and bitter and tormenting to my spirit was
the gradual conviction that I could in no manner define their unusual
meaning or regulate their vague intensity. Yet we met; and fate bound us
together at the altar, and I never spoke of passion nor thought of
love. She, however, shunned society, and, attaching herself to me alone
rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder; it is a happiness to
dream.

Morella’s erudition was profound. As I hope to live, her talents were of
no common order--her powers of mind were gigantic. I felt this, and, in
many matters,

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Text Comparison with Selections from Poe

Page 3
" [Footnote 1: A well-known Marylander, author of "Horse-Shoe Robinson," "Swallow Barn," "Rob of the Bowl," and other popular novels of the day, and later Secretary of the Navy.
Page 10
Moreover, the pleasure derived from the contemplation of this higher beauty should be indefinite; that is, true poetic feeling is not the result of coherent narrative or clear pictures or fine moral sentiment, but consists in vague, exalted emotion.
Page 18
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish, Now are visions ne'er to vanish; 20 From thy spirit shall they pass No more, like dewdrops from the grass.
Page 19
TO THE RIVER Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow Of crystal, wandering water, Thou art an emblem of the glow Of beauty--the unhidden heart, The playful maziness of art 5 In old Alberto's daughter; But when within thy wave she looks, Which glistens then, and trembles, Why, then, the prettiest of brooks Her worshipper resembles; 10 For in his heart, as in thy stream, Her image deeply lies-- His heart which trembles at the beam Of her soul-searching eyes.
Page 31
Out--out are the lights--out all! And over each quivering form The curtain, a funeral pall, 35 Comes down with the rush of a storm, While the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, "Man," And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.
Page 34
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, 25 Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore:" Merely this and nothing more.
Page 48
50 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 55 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; 60 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, 65 Of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells-- In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! IV Hear the tolling of the bells, 70 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! 75 For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan.
Page 54
A servant in waiting took my horse, and I entered the Gothic archway of the hall.
Page 60
In the monarch Thought's dominion, It stood there; Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair.
Page 69
I would wish them to seek out for me, in the details I am about to give, some little oasis of _fatality_ amid a wilderness of error.
Page 74
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.
Page 78
I could now find room to doubt the evidence of my senses; and seldom called up the subject at all but with wonder at the extent of human credulity, and a smile at the vivid force of the imagination which I hereditarily possessed.
Page 81
With a well-feigned show of reluctance, and not until after my repeated refusal had seduced him into some angry words which gave a color of pique to my compliance, did I finally comply.
Page 99
It appeared to grow upon me as I drew nearer and nearer to my dreadful doom.
Page 115
In the first place, go to bed.
Page 143
" "Its susceptibility of being produced?" said I.
Page 150
The mathematical reason has long been regarded as _the_ reason _par excellence_.
Page 151
only truths within the limits of _relation_.
Page 153
"Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair of green spectacles, and called one fine morning, quite by accident, at the Ministerial Hotel.
Page 168
96.