The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 3

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 19

upon my bosom--his hot breath was in my ear--and his
white and ghastly fangs were gleaming upon me through the gloom.

Had a thousand lives hung upon the movement of a limb or the utterance
of a syllable, I could have neither stirred nor spoken. The beast,
whatever it was, retained his position without attempting any immediate
violence, while I lay in an utterly helpless, and, I fancied, a dying
condition beneath him. I felt that my powers of body and mind were fast
leaving me--in a word, that I was perishing, and perishing of sheer
fright. My brain swam--I grew deadly sick--my vision failed--even the
glaring eyeballs above me grew dim. Making a last strong effort, I at
length breathed a faint ejaculation to God, and resigned myself to
die. The sound of my voice seemed to arouse all the latent fury of the
animal. He precipitated himself at full length upon my body; but what
was my astonishment, when, with a long and low whine, he commenced
licking my face and hands with the greatest eagerness, and with the
most extravagant demonstration of affection and joy! I was bewildered,
utterly lost in amazement--but I could not forget the peculiar whine
of my Newfoundland dog Tiger, and the odd manner of his caresses I well
knew. It was he. I experienced a sudden rush of blood to my temples--a
giddy and overpowering sense of deliverance and reanimation. I rose
hurriedly from the mattress upon which I had been lying, and, throwing
myself upon the neck of my faithful follower and friend, relieved the
long oppression of my bosom in a flood of the most passionate tears.

As upon a former occasion my conceptions were in a state of the greatest
indistinctness and confusion after leaving the mattress. For a long time
I found it nearly impossible to connect any ideas; but, by very slow
degrees, my thinking faculties returned, and I again called to memory
the several incidents of my condition. For the presence of Tiger I tried
in vain to account; and after busying myself with a thousand different
conjectures respecting him, was forced to content myself with rejoicing
that he was with me to share my dreary solitude, and render me comfort
by his caresses. Most people love their dogs--but for Tiger I had an
affection far more ardent than common; and never, certainly, did
any creature more truly deserve it. For seven years he had been my
inseparable companion, and in a multitude of instances had given
evidence of all the noble qualities for which we value the animal. I
had rescued

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Text Comparison with The Raven Illustrated

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provided by the Internet Archive THE RAVEN By Edgar Allan Poe Illustrated New York E.
Page 1
" [Illustration: 9015] Presently my soul grew stronger; Hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly Your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, And so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, Tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"-- Here I opened .
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wide the door: Darkness there and nothing more.
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[Illustration: 0022] Then this ebony bird beguiling My sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum Of the countenance it wore, " Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, Thou," I said, " art sure no craven, Ghastly, grim and ancient Raven Wandering from the Nightly shore-- Tell me what thy lordly name is On the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.
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Nothing farther then he uttered; Not a feather then he fluttered-- Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other friends have flown before-- On the morrow he will leave me, As my hopes have flown before.
Page 5
" This I sat engaged in guessing, But no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now Burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, With my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining That the lamplight gloated o'er, But.
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"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee By these angels he hath sent thee Respite--respite and Nepenthe From thy memories of Lenore! Let me quaff this kind Nepenthe, And forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.
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" 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, .
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And the lamplight 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! [Illustration: 0035].