The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 3

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 88

with occasional fogs and light
breezes, most usually from N. to W.

On the twenty-second, as we were sitting close huddled together,
gloomily revolving over our lamentable condition, there flashed through
my mind all at once an idea which inspired me with a bright gleam of
hope. I remembered that, when the foremast had been cut away, Peters,
being in the windward chains, passed one of the axes into my hand,
requesting me to put it, if possible, in a place of security, and that
a few minutes before the last heavy sea struck the brig and filled her
I had taken this axe into the forecastle and laid it in one of the
larboard berths. I now thought it possible that, by getting at this
axe, we might cut through the deck over the storeroom, and thus readily
supply ourselves with provisions.

When I communicated this object to my companions, they uttered a feeble
shout of joy, and we all proceeded forthwith to the forecastle. The
difficulty of descending here was greater than that of going down in the
cabin, the opening being much smaller, for it will be remembered that
the whole framework about the cabin companion-hatch had been carried
away, whereas the forecastle-way, being a simple hatch of only about
three feet square, had remained uninjured. I did not hesitate, however,
to attempt the descent; and a rope being fastened round my body as
before, I plunged boldly in, feet foremost, made my way quickly to the
berth, and at the first attempt brought up the axe. It was hailed with
the most ecstatic joy and triumph, and the ease with which it had been
obtained was regarded as an omen of our ultimate preservation.

We now commenced cutting at the deck with all the energy of rekindled
hope, Peters and myself taking the axe by turns, Augustus’s wounded arm
not permitting him to aid us in any degree. As we were still so feeble
as to be scarcely able to stand unsupported, and could consequently work
but a minute or two without resting, it soon became evident that many
long hours would be necessary to accomplish our task--that is, to cut an
opening sufficiently large to admit of a free access to the storeroom.
This consideration, however, did not discourage us; and, working all
night by the light of the moon, we succeeded in effecting our purpose by
daybreak on the morning of the twenty-third.

Peters now volunteered to go down; and, having made all arrangements
as before, he descended, and soon returned bringing up with him a small
jar, which, to our

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Text Comparison with The Bells, and Other Poems

Page 0
---- (O! I care not that my earthly lot)_ _The Conqueror Worm_ _Sonnet--To Zante_ _To M.
Page 1
Now--now to sit or never, .
Page 2
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Page 6
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-- Only this, and nothing more.
Page 8
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee Respite--respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.
Page 9
Ah, dream to bright to last! Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise But to be overcast! A voice from out the Future cries, "On! on!"--but o'er the Past (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast! For, alas! alas! with me The light of Life is o'er! "No more--no more--no more--" (Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore) Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree Or the stricken eagle soar! And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy grey eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams-- In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams.
Page 11
that, on this July midnight-- Was it not Fate, (whose name is also Sorrow,) That bade me pause before that garden-gate, To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses? No footstep stirred: the hated world all slept, Save only thee and me.
Page 12
And all with pearl and ruby glowing Was the fair palace door, Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, And sparkling evermore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty Was but to sing, In voices of surpassing beauty, The wit and wisdom of their king.
Page 17
It _is_ not that my founts of bliss Are gushing--strange! with tears-- Or that the thrill of a single kiss Hath palsied many years-- 'Tis not that the flowers of twenty springs Which have wither'd as they rose Lie dead on my heart-strings With the weight of an age of snows.
Page 18
----_ [Mrs.
Page 20
And fell on gardens of the unforgiven In Trebizond--and on a sunny flower So like its own above that, to this hour, It still remaineth, torturing the bee With madness, and unwonted reverie: In Heaven, and all its environs, the leaf And blossom of the fairy plant in grief Disconsolate linger--grief that hangs her head, Repenting follies that full long have fled, Heaving her white breast to the balmy air, Like guilty beauty, chasten'd and more fair: Nyctanthes too, as sacred as the light She fears to perfume, perfuming the night: And Clytia, pondering between many a sun, While pettish tears adown her petals run: And that aspiring flower that sprang on Earth, And died, ere scarce exalted into birth, Bursting its odorous heart in spirit to wing Its way to Heaven, from garden of a king: And Valisnerian lotus, thither flown From struggling with the waters of the Rhone: And thy most lovely purple perfume, Zante! Isola d'oro!--Fior di Levante! And the Nelumbo bud that floats for ever With Indian Cupid down the holy river-- Fair flowers, and fairy! to whose care is given To bear the Goddess' song, in odours, up to Heaven "Spirit! thou dwellest where, In the deep sky, The terrible and fair, In beauty vie! Beyond the line of blue-- The boundary of the star Which turneth at the view Of thy barrier and thy bar-- Of the barrier overgone By the comets who were cast From their pride and from their throne To be drudges till the last-- To be carriers of fire (The red fire of their heart) With speed that may not tire And with pain that shall not part-- Who livest--_that_ we know-- In Eternity--we feel-- But the shadow of whose brow What spirit shall reveal? Tho' the beings whom thy Nesace, Thy messenger hath known Have dream'd for thy Infinity A model of.
Page 21
High on a mountain of enamell'd.
Page 26
_BRIDAL BALLAD_ The ring is on my hand.
Page 28
_THE HAPPIEST DAY, THE HAPPIEST HOUR_ The happiest day--the happiest hour My sear'd and blighted heart hath known, The highest hope of pride and power, I feel hath flown.
Page 31
_ In Heaven a spirit doth dwell "Whose heart-strings are a lute;" None sing so wildly well As the angel Israfel, And the giddy Stars (so legends tell) Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell Of his voice, all mute.
Page 32
birds, Are lips--and all thy melody Of lip-begotten words-- Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined, Then desolately fall, O God! on my funereal mind Like starlight on a pall-- Thy heart--_thy_ heart!--I wake and sigh, And sleep to dream till day Of the truth that gold can never buy-- Of the baubles that it may.
Page 33
Not all the power is gone--not all our fame-- Not all the magic of our high renown-- Not all the wonder that encircles us-- Not all the mysteries that in us lie-- Not all the memories that hang upon And cling around about us as a garment, Clothing us in a robe of more than glory.
Page 35
When the light was extinguished She covered me warm, And she prayed to the angels To keep me from harm-- To the queen of the angels To shield me from harm.
Page 38
[Illustration: Tamerlane] I wrapp'd myself in grandeur then, And donn'd a visionary crown-- Yet it was not that Fantasy Had thrown her mantle over me-- But that, among the rabble--men, Lion ambition is chained down-- And crouches to a keeper's hand-- Not so in deserts where the grand-- The wild--the terrible conspire With their own breath to fan his fire.
Page 39
And boyhood is a summer sun Whose waning is the dreariest one-- For all we live to know is known, And all we seek to keep hath flown-- Let life, then, as the day-flower, fall With the noon-day beauty--which is all.