Collected Works of Poe - Edgar Allan Poe (best fiction books to read .TXT) 📗

man can discover For the dews that drip all over; Mountains toppling evermore Into seas without a shore; Seas that restlessly aspire, Surging, unto skies of fire; Lakes that endlessly outspread Their lone waters - lone and dead, - Their still waters - still and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily. 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 most melancholy, - There the traveller meets aghast Sheeted Memories of the Past - Shrouded forms that start and sigh As they pass the wanderer by - White-robed forms of friends long given, In agony, to the Earth - and Heaven. For the heart whose woes are legion 'Tis a peaceful, soothing region - For the spirit that walks in shadow 'Tis - oh 'tis an Eldorado! But the traveller, travelling through it, May not - dare not openly view it; Never its mysteries are exposed To the weak human eye unclosed; So wills its King, who hath forbid The uplifting of the fringed lid; And thus the sad Soul that here passes Beholds it but through darkened glasses. By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, On a black throne reigns upright, I have wandered home but newly From this ultimate dim Thule.

1844.

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HYMN

AT morn - at noon - at twilight dim - Maria! thou hast heard my hymn! In joy and wo - in good and ill - Mother of God, be with me still! When the Hours flew brightly by And not a cloud obscured the sky, My soul, lest it should truant be, Thy grace did guide to thine and thee; Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast Darkly my Present and my Past, Let my Future radiant shine With sweet hopes of thee and thine!

1835.

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TO ZANTE

FAIR isle, that from the fairest of all flowers, Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take How many memories of what radiant hours At sight of thee and thine at once awake! How many scenes of what departed bliss! How many thoughts of what entombed hopes! How many visions of a maiden that is No more - no more upon thy verdant slopes! No more! alas, that magical sad sound Transfomring all! Thy charms shall please no more - Thy memory _no more! _Accursed ground Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore, O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante! "Isoa d'oro! Fior di Levante!"

1837.

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SCENES FROM "POLITIAN"

AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA.

I. ROME. -- A Hall in a Palace Alessandra and Castiglione.. _Alessandra._ Thou art sad, Castiglione.

_ Castiglione. _ Sad! -- not I. Oh, I'm the happiest, happiest man in Rome! A few days more, thou knowest, my Alessandra, Will make thee mine. Oh, I am very happy!

_ Aless. _ Methinks thou hast a singular way of showing Thy happiness! -- what ails thee, cousin of mine? Why didst thou sigh so deeply?

_Cas. _Did I sign? I was not conscious of it. It is a fashion, A silly -- a most silly fashion I have When I am _very_ happy. Did I sigh? (_sighing._)

_ Aless. _Thou didst. Thou art not well. Thou hast indulged Too much of late, and I am vexed to see it. Late hours and wine, Castiglione, -- these Will ruin thee! thou art already altered -- Thy looks are haggard -- nothing so wears away The constitution as late hours and wine.

_Cas. (musing.) _Nothing, fair cousin, nothing -- not even deep sorrow -- Wears it away like evil hours and wine. I will amend.

_ Aless. _Do it! I would have thee drop Thy riotous company, too -- fellows low born -- Ill suit the like with old Di Broglio's heir And Alessandra's husband.

_Cas. _I will drop them.

_ Aless. _ Thou wilt -- thou must. Attend thou also more To thy dress and equipage -- they are over plain For thy lofty rank and fashion -- much depends Upon appearances.

_Cas. _I'll see to it.

_ Aless. _Then see to it! -- pay more attention, sir, To a becoming carriage -- much thou wantest In dignity.

_Cas. _Much, much, oh! much I want In proper dignity.

_ Aless.(haughtily) _Thou mockest me, sir!

_Cas. (abstractedly.) _Sweet, gentle Lalage!

_ Aless. Heard I aright? I speak to him -- he speaks of Lalage! Sir Count! (_places her hand on his shoulder) what art thou dreaming? he's not well! What ails thee, sir?

_Cas. (startling.) _Cousin! fair cousin! -- madam! I crave thy pardon -- indeed I am not well -- Your hand from off my shoulder, if you please. This air is most oppressive! -- Madam -- the Duke! _Enter Di Broglio._

_ Di Broglio. My son, I've news for thee! -- hey? -- what's the matter? (_observing Alessandra) I' the pouts? Kiss her, Castiglione! kiss her, You dog! and make it up, I say, this minute! I've news for you both. Politian is expected Hourly in Rome -- Politian, Earl of Leicester! We'll have him at the wedding. 'Tis his first visit To the imperial city.

_ Aless. _What! Politian Of Britain, Earl of Leicester?

_ Di Brog._ The same, my love. We'll have him at the wedding. A man quite young In years, but grey in fame. I have not seen him, But Rumour speaks of him as of a prodigy Pre-eminent in arts and arms, and wealth, And high descent. We'll have him at the wedding.

_ Aless. _I have heard much of this Politian. Gay, volatile and giddy -- is he not? And little given to thinking.

_ Di Brog._ Far from it, love. No branch, they say, of all philosophy So deep abstruse he has not mastered it. Learned as few are learned.

_ Aless. _'Tis very strange! I have known men have seen Politian And sought his company. They speak of him As of one who entered madly into life, Drinking the cup of pleasure to the dregs.

_Cas. _Ridiculous! Now I have seen Politian And know him well -- nor learned nor mirthful he. He is a dreamer and a man shut out From common passions.

_ Di Brog. Children, we disagree. Let us go forth and taste the fragrant air Of the garden. Did I dream, or did I hear Politian was a _melancholy man? (exeunt.)

II

ROME. A Lady's apartment, with a window open and looking into a garden. Lalage, in deep mourning, reading at a table on which lie some books and a hand mirror. In the background Jacinta (a servant maid) leans carelessly upon a chair.

_ Lal. [_Lalage] Jacinta! is it thou?

_ Jac. [_Jacinta] (pertly.) Yes, Ma'am, I'm here.

_ Lal._ I did not know, Jacinta, you were in waiting. Sit down! -- Let not my presence trouble you -- Sit down! -- for I am humble, most humble.

_Jac._ (_aside_.) 'Tis time. (_Jacinta seats herself in a side-long manner upon the chair, resting her elbows upon the back, and regarding her mistress with a contemptuous look. Lalage continues to read_. ) _Lal._ "It in another climate, so he said, "Bore a bright golden flower, but not i' this soil!" (_pauses -- turns over some leaves, and resumes_) "No lingering winters there, nor snow, nor shower -- "But Ocean ever to refresh mankind "Breathes the shrill spirit of the western wind." O, beautiful!- most beautiful -- how like To what my fevered soul doth dream of Heaven! O happy land (_pauses_) She died! -- the maiden died! A still more happy maiden who couldst die! Jacinta! (_Jacinta returns no answer, and Lalage presently resumes._) Again! -- a similar tale Told of a beauteous dame beyond the sea! Thus speaketh one Ferdinand in the words of the play -- "She died full young" -- one Bossola answers him -- "I think not so -- her infelicity "Seemed to have years too many" -- Ah luckless lady! Jacinta! (_still no answer_) Here 's a far sterner story, But like -- oh, very like in its despair -- Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily A thousand hearts -- losing at length her own. She died. Thus endeth the history -- and her maids Lean over and weep -- two gentle maids With gentle names -- Eiros and Charmion! Rainbow and Dove! -- -- Jacinta! _Jac._ (_pettishly_.) Madam, what _is_ it? _Lal._ Wilt thou, my good Jacinta, be so kind As go down in the library and bring me The Holy Evangelists. _Jac._ Pshaw! (_exit_.) _Lal._ If there be balm For the wounded spirit in Gilead it is there! Dew in the night time of my bitter trouble Will there be found -- "dew sweeter far than that Which hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill." (_re-enter Jacinta, and throws a volume on the table._) There, ma'am, 's the book. Indeed she is very troublesome. (_aside._) _Lal. (astonished.) _ What didst thou say, Jacinta? Have I done aught To grieve thee or to vex thee? -- I am sorry. For thou hast served me long and ever been Trust-worthy and respectful.