The Mask of the Red Death - Graham's Magazine, May 1842 — reading text

had better make the most of it—and those out of the *Tis true, the habit had been long in forming, but scrape keep so. Ah! you little reprobate!” he cried every link she broke in the chain that bound her, as he caught Lucy’s bright eye, and disbelieving brought a new comfort to that happy household shake of the head—‘“ you don’t pretend to contradict hearth. Clifton had insisted on hiring a woman to me ?” take charge of the children—this was a great relief. ** Yes I do, with my whole heart too. I would not And somehow or other, “ Uncle Joshua” looked up give up my husband for the wide world, nor he his a good cook. Lucy for the fairest girl in America !” ‘‘ Now,”’ said Lucy, ‘to fail would be a positive “ Never !” exclaimed Clifton—“ you are dearer to disgrace.” me than any other human being!” ‘* No danger of your failing, my sweet wife,”’ said ‘W-h-e-w !!"? was “Uncle Joshua’s” reply, in a Clifton, with a glance of affection that might have prolonged sort of whistle, while his eyes opened in satisfied even her heart. ‘You are already beyond the profoundest wonder, and his whole countenance the fear of it.” was expressive of the most ludicrous astonishment— Lucy shook her head—T must watch or my old * w-h-e-w! !”? be: gare ate sin sincera nego On aes ny nme apenas  PERDITI. BY WM. WALLACE, ESQ. AUTHOR OF ‘‘ BATTLE OF TIPPECANOE;’’ ‘‘ MARCHES FOR THE DEAD,’’ ETC., ETC. The following poem is respectfully dedicated to the Hon. Exisoa M. Hunrineron, as a tribute of respect to his head and heart, by the AUTHOR. ’ PART FIRST.—ITALY. It was a clime where mortal form Hath never pressed the blasted soil— Ox! Lanp of the BeautiruL! Lanp of the Bricur! Where tempest-fires and surging storm Where the echoless feet of the Hours Are struggling ever in their coil: Are gliding forever in soft, dreamy light A sunless clime, whose dreary night Through their mazes of sunshine and flow’rs ; Gleams dimly with that doubtful light Fair clime of the Laurel—the Sword and the Lyre! Which men have seen—when Darkness threw There the souls are all genius—the hearts are all fire; Around their homes its sombre hue— There the Rivers—the Mountains—the lowliest sods The fearful herald of the wrath Were hallowed, long since, by the bright feet of Gods; That blazes on the WHIRLWInp’s path There Beauty and GRANDEUR their wonders of old Ere he has tossed his banners out Like a bridal of star-light and thunder unroll’d ; Like sable draperies o’er the Dead, There the air seems to breathe of a music sent out And with a wild, delirious shout From the rose-mufiled lips of invisible streams, Struck his deep thunder-drum of dread ; Oh! sweet as the harmony whispered about A clime where e’en the fountains fall The Nicut’s moon-beaming portal of exquisite DREAMs. ‘With tone and step funereal : Though Beauty and GRANDEUR, MAGNIFICENT CLIME ! And ever through the dark, old trees Have walked o’er thy Vallies and Mountains sublime, A melancholy music rolls With a port as majestic—unfading as TimzE— Along the faintly-chiming breeze— A death-pall is on Thee! The funeral glare Sad as the wail of tortured souls. Of a grave-terch, Oh! Italy, gleams on the air! Lo! the crimes of whole ages roll down on thy breast ! There ghastly forms were hurrying past Hark ! Hark to the fierce thunder-troops of the Storm! Like wierd clouds through the ether driven, Ah! soon shall they stamp on thy beautiful crest, In fear, before the HUNTER-BLAST, And riot unchecked o’er thy loveliest form! Whose vengeance purifies the heaven, And some were pale, as if with woe, Oh! Lanp of the Beautirut! Lanp of the Bricur! And ever cast their eyes below; *Though the day of thy glory is o’er, And some were quivering with a fear And the time-hallowed mountains are mantled in night In this their dreary sepulchre ; Where thy Lrserty flourished before ; Andsome, whose awful aspects wore ’Though the black brow of Bigotry scowls on thy race A look where sat the seal of age, Which are kissing the chains of their brutal digrace ; On their convulséd foreheads bore *Though the torches of FREEDOM so long hurled about The phrenzied agony of rage ; By thy heroes of old are forever gone out ; On some a dreadful beauty shone Yet! yet shall thy Beauty shine out from the gloom, Like rays received from fallen stars— Oh! Lanp of the Harp and the Wreath and the Tomb! So dim, so mournful and so lone, The seal has been set! ImmortTALiry beams Yet brave, despite of all their scars. Like a time-daringstar o’er thy temples and streams; And stillas whole tribes from the wierd future dart, Far from the throng two sat apart They shall kneel at thine altar, On! CLIME OF THE HEsRT! Beneath a forest’s darkling plume— More splendid art thou, with thy banners all furl’d In that communion of the heart And thy brow in the dust, than the rest of the world, Which but the wretched can assume. For the MIGHTY—THE DgEAp who have hallowed our earth, They seemed in earnest converse there, In thee have their rest and from thee took their birth. As if with words to quench despair; Oh! alas that we live—we the boastful who leap And one, along whose features grew, Like mere rills where the sun-pillar’d TrutHis enshrined A withering, deathly, demon-hue, Where those broad-rolling rivers no longer may sweep Wore that high, dread, defying look With their billows of light to the Oczan oF Minp. Which but the Lost can dare to brook _ The other milder seemed—but he Y *The tale of Lorro is founded onan actual occurrence : Was shrouded, too, in mystery, one of the incidents has already been turned to advantage by a prose writer. ‘This poem will be followed by another, And ever threw along the sky n which I have attempted to show the rewards of virtue. A fearful spiritual eye 23  266 GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. Which in its gloomy light sublime— Despite of many a weary year, Seemed half of virtue, half of crime, Whose tides of flame and darkness gloom Like lightning when you see its glow Amid the spirit’s stagnant air— Soft as a moonbeam flashed below— More fearful than the damn’d one’s tomb And then in blasting brightness sent And withering as despair. Wild-quivering through the firmament. So sat they in that dreary light, Oh! God why was I chos’n for such ? Upon the blasted darkling mould— I who until that fearful hour— Fit watchers of such awful night— Ah! would not e’en too wildly touch As thus the last his story told. The summer’s very humblest flower. The little bird whose rain-bow wing LORRO. I saw, in spring time’s roseate eves, «“ The many only look to vears ; With its own beauty quivering The many think they only roll Amid the golden orange leaves, The tides of happiness or tears I made a friend—as if for me Around the human soul : It held its sinless revelry : I know a single hour for me— And e’en I’ve watched within the hall A minute—was Eternity, The deadly spider weave his pall, That seemed with its fierce, lidless eye And smiled in very joy to see Fixed—fixed forever in the sky ' The cunning workman’s tracery. Which, circling round the Italian shore, Was only made for bliss before : The minstrel-breeze which struck by hours But now it darkled likea shroud Its tender instrument of flowers— By demon-hands in warning shaken, The moon that held her march alone From their lone, scowling thunder-cloud At midnight ’round th’ Eternal Throne— Ere yet its elements awaken. The sullen thunder whose red eyes Flashed angrily within our skies— Oh ! was it Fancy? ora spell All! alktome were but the chain Hurled o’er me by some dreadful power,— Along whose wond'rous links there came That I should carry thus a hell, Unceasingly to head and brain Within my bosom from that hour? Love’s own