The Raven and Other Poems — 1845 volume text — reading text

thou art come o'er far-off seas, A wonder to these garden trees! Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress! Strange, above all, thy length of tress, And this all solemn silentness! The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, Which is enduring, so be deep! Heaven have her in its sacred keep! This chamber changed for one more holy, This bed for one more melancholy, I pray to God that she may lie Forever with unopened eye, While the dim sheeted ghosts go by! My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, As it is lasting, so be deep! Soft may the worms about her creep! Far in the forest, dim and old, For her may some tall vault unfold — Some vault that oft hath flung its black And winged pannels fluttering back, Triumphant, o'er the crested palls, Of her grand family funerals — Some sepulchre, remote, alone, Against whose portal she hath thrown, In childhood, many an idle stone — Some tomb from out whose sounding door She ne'er shall force an echo more, Thrilling to think, poor child of sin! It was the dead who groaned within. The Coliseum THE COLISEUM. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ TYPE of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary Of lofty contemplation left to Time By buried centuries of pomp and power! At length — at length — after so many days Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst, (Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,) I kneel, an altered and an humble man, Amid thy shadows, and so drink within My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory! Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld! Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night! I feel ye now — I feel ye in your strength — O spells more sure than e’er Judæan king Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane! O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee Ever drew down from out the quiet stars! Here, where a hero fell, a column falls! Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold, A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat! Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle! Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled, Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home, Lit by the wanlight of the hornéd moon, The swift and silent lizard of the stones! But stay! these walls — these ivy-clad arcades — These mouldering plinths — these sad and blackened shafts — These vague entablatures — this crumbling frieze — These shattered cornices — this wreck — this ruin — These stones — alas! these gray stones — are they all — All of the famed, and the colossal left By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me? “Not all” — the Echoes answer me — “not all! “Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever “From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise, “As melody from Memnon to the Sun. “We rule the hearts of mightiest men — we rule “With a despotic sway all giant minds. “We are not impotent — we pallid stones. “Not all our 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.” Lenore LENORE. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ AH, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever! Let the bell toll! — a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river; And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear? — weep now or never more! See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! Come! let the burial rite be read — the funeral song be sung! — An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young — A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young. “Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride, “And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her — that she died! “How shall the ritual, then, be read? — the requiem how be sung “By you — by yours, the evil eye, — by yours, the slanderous tongue “That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?” Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong! The sweet Lenore hath “gone before,” with Hope, that flew beside, Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride — For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies, The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes — The life still there, upon her hair — the death upon her eyes. “Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise, “But waft the angel on her flight with a Pæan of old days! “Let no bell toll! — lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth, “Should catch the note, as it doth float — up from the damnéd Earth. “To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven — “From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven — “From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven.” Catholic Hymn CATHOLIC 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! Israfel ISRAFEL.* ~~~~~~~~~~~ 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. Tottering above In her highest noon, The enamoured moon Blushes with love, While, to listen, the red levin (With the rapid Pleiads, even, Which were seven,) Pauses in Heaven. And they say (the starry choir And the other listening things) That Israfeli's fire Is owing to that lyre By which he sits and sings — The trembling living wire Of those unusual strings. But the skies that angel trod, Where deep thoughts are a duty — Where Love's a grown up God — Where the Houri glances are Imbued with all the beauty Which we worship in a star. Therefore, thou art not wrong, Israfeli, who despisest An unimpassioned song; To thee the laurels belong, Best bard, because the wisest! Merrily live, and long! The ecstasies above With thy burning measures suit — Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, With the fervour of thy lute — Well may the stars be mute! Yes, Heaven is thine; but this Is a world of sweets and sours; Our flowers are merely — flowers, And the shadow of thy perfect bliss Is the sunshine of ours. If I could dwell Where Israfel Hath dwelt, and he where I, He might not sing so wildly well A mortal melody, While a bolder note than this might swell From my lyre within the sky. *And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures. — KORAN. Dream-Land DREAM-LAND. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ BY a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule — From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, Out of SPACE — out of TIME. Bottomless vales and boundless floods, And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods, With forms that no 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. Sonnet — to Zante SONNET — 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 entombéd hopes! How many visions of a maiden that is No more — no more upon thy verdant slopes! No more! alas, that magical sad sound Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more — Thy memory no more! Accurséd ground Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore, O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante! “Isola d’oro! Fior di Levante!” The City in the Sea THE CITY IN THE SEA. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ LO! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not!) Resemble nothing that is ours. Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. No rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town; But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently — Gleams up the pinnacles far and free — Up domes — up spires — up kingly halls — Up fanes — up Babylon-like walls — Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers Of scultured ivy and stone flowers — Up many and many a marvellous shrine Whose wreathed friezes intertwine The viol, the violet, and the vine. Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. So blend the turrets and shadows there That all seem pendulous in air, While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down. There open fanes and gaping graves Yawn level with the luminous waves; But not the riches there that lie In each idol's diamond eye — Not the gaily-jewelled dead Tempt the waters from their bed; For no ripples curl, alas! Along that wilderness of glass — No swellings tell that winds may be Upon some far-off happier sea — No heavings hint that winds have been On seas less hideously serene. But lo, a stir is in the air! The wave — there is a movement there! As if the towers had thrown aside, In slightly sinking, the dull tide — As if their tops had feebly given A void within the filmy Heaven. The waves have now a redder glow — The hours are breathing faint and low — And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence. Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence. To One in Paradise TO ONE IN PARADISE. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THOU wast all that to me, love, For which my soul did pine — A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine. Ah, dream too 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