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

disappeared, and has never been seen since. *On Santa Maura — olim Deucadia. †Sappho. *This flower is much noticed by Lewenhoeck and Tournefort. The bee, feeding upon its blossom, becomes intoxicated. †Clytia — The Chrysanthemum Peruvianum, or, to employ a better-known term, the turnsol — which continually turns towards the sun, covers itself, like Peru, the country from which it comes, with dewy clouds which cool and refresh its flowers during the most violent heat of the day. — B. de St. Pierre. ‡There is cultivated in the king's garden at Paris, a species of serpentine aloes without prickles, whose large and beautiful flower exhales a strong odour of the vanilla, during the time of its expansion, which is very short. It does not blow till towards the month of July — you then perceive it gradually open its petals — expand them — fade and die. — St. Pierre. *There is found, in the Rhone, a beautiful lily of the Valisnerian kind. Its stem will stretch to the length of three or four feet — thus preserving its head above water in the swellings of the river. †The Hyacinth. ‡It is a fiction of the Indians, that Cupid was first seen floating in one of these down the river Ganges — and that he still loves the cradle of his childhood. §And golden vials full of odors which are the prayers of the saints. — Rev. St. John. *The Humanitarians held that God was to be understood as having really a human form. — Vide Clarke's Sermons, vol. 1, page 26, fol. edit. The drift of Milton's argument, leads him to employ language which would appear, at first sight, to verge upon their doctrine; but it will be seen immediately, that he guards himself against the charge of having adopted one of the most ignorant errors of the dark ages of the church. — Dr. Sumner's Notes on Milton's Christian Doctrine. This opinion, in spite of many testimonies to the contrary, could never have been very general. Andeus, a Syrian of Mesopotamia, was condemned for the opinion, as heretical. He lived in the beginning of the fourth century. His disciples were called Anthropmorphites. — Vide Du Pin. Among Milton's poems are these lines: Dicite sacrorum præsides nemorum Deæ, &c. Quis ille primus cujus ex imagine Natura solers finxit humanum genus? Eternus, incorruptus, æquævus polo, Unusque et universus exemplar Dei. — And afterwards, Non cui profundum Cæcitas lumen dedit Dircæus augur vidit hunc alto sinu, &c. *Seltsamen Tochter Jovis Seinem Schosskinde Der Phantasie. — Göethe. †Sightless — too small to be seen — Legge. *I have often noticed a peculiar movement of the fire-flies; — they will collect in a body and fly off, from a common centre, into innumerable radii. †Therasæa, or Therasea, the island mentioned by Seneca, which, in a moment, arose from the sea to the eyes of astonished mariners. *Some star which, from the ruin'd roof Of shak'd Olympus, by mischance, did fall. — Milton. *Voltaire, in speaking of Persepolis, says, “Je connois bien l'admiration qu'inspirent ces ruines — mais un palais erigé au pied d'une chaine des rochers sterils — peut il être un chef d'œvure des arts!” [Voila les arguments de M. Voltaire. ] †“Oh! the wave” — Ula Degusi is the Turkish appellation; but, on its own shores, it is called Bahar Loth, or Almotanah. There were undoubtedly more than two cities engluphed in the “dead sea.” In the valley of Siddim were five — Adrah, Zeboin, Zoar, Sodom and Gomorrah. Stephen of Byzantium mentions eight, and Strabo thirteeen, (engulphed) — but the last is out of all reason. It is said, (Tacitus, Strabo, Josephus, Daniel of St. Saba, Nau, Maundrell, Troilo, D'Arvieux) that after an excessive drought, the vestiges of columns, walls, &c. are seen above the surface. At any season, such remains may be discovered by looking down into the transparent lake, and at such distances as would argue the existence of many settlements in the space now usurped by the ‘Asphaltites.’ *Eyraco — Chaldea. †I have often thought I could distinctly hear the sound of the darkness as it stole over the horizon. ‡Fairies use flowers for their charactery. — Merry Wives of Windsor. [William Shakespeare] *In Scripture is this passage — “The sun shall not harm thee by day, nor the moon by night.” It is perhaps not generally known that the moon, in Egypt, has the effect of producing blindness to those who sleep with the face exposed to its rays, to which circumstance the passage evidently alludes. *The Albatross is said to sleep on the wing. †I met with this idea in an old English tale, which I am now unable to obtain and quote from memory: — “The verie essence and, as it were, springe-heade, and origine of all musiche is the verie pleasaunte sounde which the trees of the forest do make when they growe.” *The wild bee will not sleep in the shade if there be moonlight. The rhyme in this verse, as in one about sixty lines before, has an appearance of affectation. It is, however, imitated from Sir W. Scott, or rather from Claud Halcro — in whose mouth I admired its effect: O! were there an island, Tho' ever so wild Where woman might smile, and No man be beguil'd, &c. *With the Arabians there is a medium between Heaven and Hell, where men suffer no punishment, but yet do not attain that tranquil and even happiness which they suppose to be characteristic of heavenly enjoyment. Un no rompido sueno — Un dia puro — allegre — libre Quiera — Libre de amor — de zelo — De odio — de esperanza — de rezelo. — Luis Ponce de Leon. Sorrow is not excluded from “Al Aaraaf,” but it is that sorrow which the living love to cherish for the dead, and which, in some minds, resembles the delirium of opium. The passionate excitement of Love and the buoyancy of spirit attendant upon intoxication are its less holy pleasures — the price of which, to those souls who make choice of “Al Aaraaf” as their residence after life, is final death and annihilation. *There be tears of perfect moan Wept for thee in Helicon. — Milton. *It was entire in 1687 — the most elevated spot in Athens. †Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows Than have the white breasts of the Queen of Love. — Marlowe. *Pennon — for pinion. — Milton. Tamerlane TAMERLANE. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ KIND solace in a dying hour! Such, father, is not (now) my theme — I will not madly deem that power Of Earth may shrive me of the sin Unearthly pride hath revell'd in — I have no time to dote or dream: You call it hope — that fire of fire! It is but agony of desire: If I can hope — Oh God! I can — Its fount is holier — more divine — I would not call thee fool, old man, But such is not a gift of thine. Know thou the secret of a spirit Bow'd from its wild pride into shame. O yearning heart! I did inherit Thy withering portion with the fame, The searing glory which hath shone Amid the jewels of my throne, Halo of Hell! and with a pain Not Hell shall make me fear again — O craving heart, for the lost flowers And sunshine of my summer hours! Th’ undying voice of that dead time, With its interminable chime, Rings, in the spirit of a spell, Upon thy emptiness — a knell. I have not always been as now: The fever'd diadem on my brow I claim'd and won usurpingly — Hath not the same fierce heirdom given Rome to the Cæsar — this to me? The heritage of a kingly mind, And a proud spirit which hath striven Triumphantly with human kind. On mountain soil I first drew life: The mists of the Taglay have shed Nightly their dews upon my head, And, I believe, the winged strife And tumult of the headlong air Have nestled in my very hair. So late from Heaven — that dew — it fell (’Mid dreams of an unholy night) Upon me with the touch of Hell, While the red flashing of the light From clouds that hung, like banners, o'er, Appeared to my half-closing eye The pageantry of monarchy, And the deep trumpet-thunder's roar Came hurriedly upon me, telling Of human battle, where my voice, My own voice, silly child! — was swelling (O! how my spirit would rejoice, And leap within me at the cry) The battle-cry of Victory! The rain came down upon my head Unshelter'd — and the heavy wind Rendered me mad and deaf and blind. It was but man, I thought, who shed Laurels upon me: and the rush — The torrent of the chilly air Gurgled within my ear the crush Of empires — with the captive's prayer — The hum of suitors — and the tone Of flattery ’round a sovereign's throne. My passions, from that hapless hour, Usurp'd a tyranny which men Have deem'd, since I have reach'd to power; My innate nature — be it so: But, father, there liv'd one who, then, Then — in my boyhood — when their fire Burn'd with a still intenser glow, (For passion must, with youth, expire) E’en then who knew this iron heart In woman's weakness had a part. I have no words — alas! — to tell The loveliness of loving well! Nor would I now attempt to trace The more than beauty of a face Whose lineaments, upon my mind, Are —— shadows on th’ unstable wind: Thus I remember having dwelt Some page of early lore upon, With loitering eye, till I have felt The letters — with their meaning — melt To fantasies — with none. O, she was worthy of all love! Love — as in infancy was mine — ’Twas such as angel minds above Might envy; her young heart the shrine On which my every hope and thought Were incense — then a goodly gift, For they were childish and upright — Pure —— as her young example taught: Why did I leave it, and, adrift, Trust to the fire within, for light? We grew in age — and love — together — Roaming the forest, and the wild; My breast her shield in wintry weather — And, when the friendly sunshine smil'd, And she would mark the opening skies, I saw no Heaven — but in her eyes. Young Love's first lesson is —— the heart: For 'mid that sunshine, and those smiles, When, from our little cares apart, And laughing at her girlish wiles, I'd throw me on her throbbing breast, And pour my spirit out in tears — There was no need to speak the rest — No need to quiet any fears Of her — who ask'd no reason why, But turn'd on me her quiet eye! Yet more than worthy of the love My spirit struggled with, and strove, When, on the mountain peak, alone, Ambition lent it a new tone — I had no being — but in thee: The world, and all it did contain In the earth — the air — the sea — Its joy — its little lot of pain That was new pleasure —— the ideal, Dim, vanities of dreams by night — And dimmer nothings which were real — (Shadows — and a more shadowy light!) Parted upon their misty wings, And, so, confusedly, became Thine image, and — a name — a name! Two separate — yet most intimate things. I was ambitious — have you known The passion, father? You have not: A cottager, I mark'd a throne Of half the world as all my own, And murmur'd at such lowly lot — But, just like any other dream, Upon the vapor of the dew My own had past, did not the beam Of beauty which did while it thro' The minute — the hour — the day — oppress My mind with double loveliness. We walk'd together on the crown Of a high mountain which look'd down Afar from its proud natural towers Of rock and forest, on the hills — The dwindled hills! begirt with bowers And shouting with a thousand rills. I spoke to her of power and pride, But mystically — in such guise That she might deem it nought beside The moment's converse; in her eyes I read, perhaps too carelessly — A mingled feeling with my own — The flush on her bright cheek, to me Seem'd to become a queenly throne Too well that I should let it be Light in the wilderness alone. 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 chain'd down — And crouches to a keeper's hand — Not so in deserts where the grand — The wild — the terrible conspire With their own