No More Learning

―――――――
The disease of the lady Madeline had long baffled the skill of
her physicians. A settled apathy, a gradual wasting away of the
person, and frequent although transient affections of a partially
cataleptical character, were the usual diagnosis. Hitherto she
had steadily borne up against the pressure of her malady, and
had not betaken herself finally to bed; but on the closing in
of the evening of my arrival at the house, she succumbed (as
her brother told me at night with inexpressible agitation) to
the prostrating power of the destroyer; and I learned that the
glimpse I had obtained of her person would thus probably be
the last I should obtain that the lady, at least while living,
would be seen by me no more.
For several days ensuing, her name. was unmentioned by
either Usher or myself; and during this period I was busied in
earnest endeavors to alleviate the melancholy of my friend. We
painted and read together; or I listened, as if in a dream, to the
wild improvisations of his speaking guitar. And thus, as a closer
and still closer intimacy admitted me more unreservedly into the
recesses of his spirit, the more bitterly did I perceive the futility


## p. 11677 (#297) ##########################################


EDGAR ALLAN POE
11677
of all attempts at cheering a mind from which darkness, as if an
inherent positive quality, poured forth upon all objects of the
moral and physical universe, in one unceasing radiation of gloom.
I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many solemn
hours I thus spent alone with the master of the House of Usher.
Yet I should fail in any attempt to convey an idea of the exact
character of the studies or of the occupations in which he in-
volved me, or led me the way. An excited and highly distem-
pered ideality threw a sulphurous lustre over all. His long
improvised dirges will ring forever in my ears. Among other
things, I hold painfully in mind a certain singular perversion
and amplification of the wild air of the last waltz of Von Weber.
From the paintings over which his elaborate fancy brooded, and
which grew, touch by touch, into vaguenesses at which I shud-
dered, the more thrillingly because I shuddered knowing not
why; from these paintings (vivid as their images now are be-
fore me) I would in vain endeavor to educe more than a small
portion which should lie within the compass of merely written.
words. By the utter simplicity, by the nakedness of his designs,
he arrested and overawed attention. If ever mortal painted an
idea, that mortal was Roderick Usher. For me at least-in the
circumstances then surrounding me. there arose out of the pure
abstractions which the hypochondriac contrived to throw upon
his canvas, an intensity of intolerable awe, no shadow of which
felt I ever yet in the contemplation of the certainly glowing yet
too concrete reveries of Fuseli.
—
—
One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend, partak-
ing not so rigidly of the spirit of abstraction, may be shadowed
forth, although feebly, in words. A small picture presented the
interior of an immensely long and rectangular vault or tun-
nel, with low walls, smooth, white, and without interruption or
device. Certain accessory points of the design served well to
convey the idea that this excavation lay at an exceeding depth.
below the surface of the earth. No outlet was observed in any
portion of its vast extent, and no torch or other artificial source
of light was discernible; yet a flood of intense rays rolled through-
out, and bathed the whole in a ghastly and inappropriate splen-
dor.
I have just spoken of that morbid condition of the auditory
nerve which rendered all music intolerable to the sufferer, with
the exception of certain effects of stringed instruments.
It was


## p. 11678 (#298) ##########################################

11678
EDGAR ALLAN POE
perhaps the narrow limits to which he thus confined himself upon
the guitar, which gave birth, in great measure, to the fantastic
character of his performances. But the fervid facility of his im-
promptus could not be so accounted for. They must have been,
and were, in the notes as well as in the words of his wild fanta-
sias (for he not unfrequently accompanied himself with rhymed
verbal improvisations), the result of that intense mental collected-
ness and concentration to which I have previously alluded as
observable only in particular moments of the highest artificial
excitement. The words of one of these rhapsodies I have easily
remembered. I was perhaps the more forcibly impressed with it
as he gave it, because in the under or mystic current of its
meaning I fancied that I perceived, and for the first time, a full
consciousness on the part of Usher of the tottering of his lofty
reason upon her throne. The verses, which were entitled The
Haunted Palace,' ran very nearly, if not accurately, thus:-
IN THE greenest of our valleys,
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace -
-
Radiant palace-reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion-
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair.
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow;
(This all this-was in the olden
Time long ago;)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley
Through two luminous windows saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute's well-tunèd law,
Round about a throne, where sitting
(Porphyrogene! )
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.


## p. 11679 (#299) ##########################################

EDGAR ALLAN POE
11679
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.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate;
(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him, desolate! )
And round about his home, the glory
That blushed and bloomed
Is but a dim remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travelers now within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows, see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody;
While like a rapid, ghastly river,
Through the pale door,
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh- but smile no more.
I well remember that suggestions arising from this ballad led
us into a train of thought wherein there became manifest an
opinion of Usher's, which I mention not so much on account
of its novelty (for other men have thought thus) as on account
of the pertinacity with which he maintained it. This opinion, in
its general form, was that of the sentience of all vegetable things.
But in his disordered fancy, the idea had assumed a more daring
character, and trespassed, under certain conditions, upon the king-
dom of inorganization. I lack words to express the full extent
or the earnest abandon of his persuasion. The belief, however,
was connected (as I have previously hinted) with the gray stones
of the home of his forefathers. The conditions of the sentience
had been here, he imagined, fulfilled in the method of colloca-
tion of these stones; in the order of their arrangement, as well
as in that of the many fungi which overspread them, and of
the decayed trees which stood around; above all, in the long-


## p. 11680 (#300) ##########################################

11680
EDGAR ALLAN POE
undisturbed endurance of this arrangement, and in its reduplica-
tion in the still waters of the tarn. Its evidence - the evidence
of the sentience was to be seen, he said (and I here started
as he spoke), in the gradual yet certain condensation of an atmo-
sphere of their own about the waters and the walls. The result
was discoverable, he added, in that silent yet importunate and
terrible influence which for centuries had molded the destinies
of his family, and which made him what I now saw him-
what he was. Such opinions need no comment, and I will make
none.
―――――
Our books the books which for years had formed no small
portion of the mental existence of the invalid-were, as might
be supposed, in strict keeping with this character of phantasm.
We pored together over such works as the 'Ververt et Char-
treuse' of Gresset; the 'Belphegor' of Machiavelli; the Heaven
and Hell' of Swedenborg; the Subterranean Voyage of Nicho-
las Klim,' by Holberg; the 'Chiromancy' of Robert Flud, of
Jean D'Indaginé, and of De la Chambre; the 'Journey into the
Blue Distance' of Tieck; and the City of the Sun' of Campa-
nella. One favorite volume was a small octavo edition of the
'Directorium Inquisitorium,' by the Dominican Eymeric de Gi-
ronne; and there were passages in Pomponius Mela, about the old
African Satyrs and Egipans, over which Usher would sit dream-
ing for hours. His chief delight, however, was found in the
perusal of an exceedingly rare and curious book in quarto Gothic,
-the manual of a forgotten church,- the Vigiliæ Mortuorum
secundum Chorum Ecclesiæ Maguntinæ. '
I could not help thinking of the wild ritual of this work, and
of its probable influence upon the hypochondriac, when one even-
ing, having informed me abruptly that the lady Madeline was no
more, he stated his intention of preserving her corpse for a fort-
night (previously to its final interment) in one of the numerous
vaults within the main walls of the building. The worldly rea-
son, however, assigned for this singular proceeding, was one which
I did not feel at liberty to dispute. The brother had been led
to his resolution (so he told me) by consideration of the unusual
character of the malady of the deceased, of certain obtrusive
and eager inquiries on the part of her medical man, and of the
remote and exposed situation of the burial-ground of the fam-
ily. I will not deny that when I called to mind the sinister
countenance of the person whom I met upon the staircase, on


## p. 11681 (#301) ##########################################

EDGAR ALLAN POE
11681
the day of my arrival at the house, I had no desire to oppose
best but a harmless, and by no means an
what I regarded as at
unnatural, precaution.
At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in the ar-
rangements for the temporary entombment. The body having
been encoffined, we two alone bore it to its rest. The vault in
which we placed it (and which had been so long unopened that
our torches, half smothered in its oppressive atmosphere, gave us
little opportunity for investigation) was small, damp, and entirely
without means of admission for light; lying, at great depth,
immediately beneath that portion of the building in which was
my own sleeping apartment. It had been used, apparently, in
remote feudal times, for the worst purposes of a donjon-keep;
and in later days as a place of deposit for powder, or some other
highly combustible substance,—as a portion of its floor, and the
whole interior of a long archway through which we reached it,
were carefully sheathed with copper. The door of massive iron
had been also similarly protected. Its immense weight caused an
unusually sharp grating sound, as it moved upon its hinges.
Having deposited our mournful burden upon tressels within
this region of horror, we partially turned aside the yet unscrewed
lid of the coffin and looked upon the face of the tenant. A strik-
ing similitude between the brother and sister now first arrested
my attention; and Usher, divining perhaps my thoughts, mur-
mured out some few words from which I learned that the
deceased and himself had been twins, and that sympathies of
a scarcely intelligible nature had always existed between them.
Our glances, however, rested not long upon the dead; for we
could not regard her unawed. The disease which had thus
entombed the lady in the maturity of youth had left, as usual
in all maladies of a strictly cataleptical character, the mockery of
a faint blush upon the bosom and the face, and that suspiciously
lingering smile upon the lip which is so terrible in death. We
replaced and screwed down the lid; and having secured the door
of iron, made our way with toil into the scarcely less gloomy
apartments of the upper portion of the house.
And now, some days of bitter grief having elapsed, an observ-
able change came over the features of the mental disorder of my
friend. His ordinary manner had vanished. His ordinary occu-
pations were neglected or forgotten. He roamed from chamber
to chamber with hurried, unequal, and objectless step. The pallor
I
I
XX-731


## p. 11682 (#302) ##########################################

11682
EDGAR ALLAN POE
of his countenance had assumed, if possible, a more ghastly hue;
but the luminousness of his eye had entirely gone out. The once
occasional huskiness of his tone was heard no more; and a trem-
ulous quaver, as if of extreme terror, habitually characterized his
utterance. There were times, indeed, when I thought his unceas-
ingly agitated mind was laboring with some oppressive secret, to
divulge which he struggled for the necessary courage. At times
again I was obliged to resolve all into the mere inexplicable vaga-
ries of madness; for I beheld him gazing upon vacancy for long
hours in an attitude of the profoundest attention, as if listening
to some imaginary sound. It was no wonder that his condition
terrified that it infected me. I felt creeping upon me, by slow
yet certain degrees, the wild influences of his own fantastic yet
impressive superstitions.
It was especially upon retiring to bed late in the night of
the seventh or eighth day after the placing of the lady Madeline
within the donjon, that I experienced the full power of such feel-
ings. Sleep came not near my couch, while the hours waned and
waned away.
I struggled to reason off the nervousness which
had dominion over me. I endeavored to believe that much if
not all of what I felt was due to the bewildering influence of
the gloomy furniture of the room,- of the dark and tattered
draperies, which, tortured into motion by the breath of a rising
tempest, swayed fitfully to and fro upon the walls, and rustled
uneasily about the decorations of the bed. But my efforts were
fruitless. An irrepressible tremor gradually pervaded my frame;
and at length there sat upon my very heart an incubus of utterly
causeless alarm. Shaking this off with a gasp and a struggle, I
uplifted myself upon the pillows, and peering earnestly within
the intense darkness of the chamber, hearkened-I know not
why, except that an instinctive spirit prompted me-certain low
and indefinite sounds which came through the pauses of the
storm, at long intervals, I knew not whence. Overpowered by
an intense sentiment of horror, unaccountable yet unendurable, I
threw on my clothes with haste (for I felt that I should sleep
no more during the night), and endeavored to arouse myself from
the pitiable condition into which I had fallen, by pacing rapidly
to and fro through the apartment. "
I had taken but few turns in this manner, when a light step
on an adjoining staircase arrested my attention. I presently rec-
ognized it as that of Usher. In an instant afterward he rapped


## p. 11683 (#303) ##########################################

EDGAR ALLAN POE
11683
with a gentle touch at my door, and entered, bearing a lamp.
His countenance was, as usual, cadaverously wan; but moreover,
there was a species of mad hilarity in his eyes, and evidently
restrained hysteria in his whole demeanor. His air appalled me;
but anything was preferable to the solitude which had so long
endured, and I even welcomed his presence as a relief.
"And you have not seen it? " he said abruptly, after having
stared about him for some moments in silence,-"you have not
then seen it? but stay! you shall. " Thus speaking, and having
carefully shaded his lamp, he hurried to one of the casements,
and threw it freely open to the storm.
The impetuous fury of the entering gust nearly lifted us from
our feet. It was indeed a tempestuous yet sternly beautiful
night, and one wildly singular in its terror and its beauty. A
whirlwind had apparently collected its force in our vicinity: for
there were frequent and violent alterations in the direction of the
wind; and the exceeding density of the clouds (which hung so
low as to press upon the turrets of the house) did not prevent
our perceiving the lifelike velocity with which they flew career-
ing from all points against each other, without passing away into
the distance. I say that even their exceeding density did not
prevent our perceiving this; yet we had no glimpse of the moon
or stars, nor was there any flashing forth of the lightning. But
the under surfaces of the huge masses of agitated vapor, as well
as all terrestrial objects immediately around us, were glowing
in the unnatural light of a faintly luminous and distinctly visible
gaseous exhalation which hung about and enshrouded the man-
sion.
-
"You must not- you shall not behold this! " said I shud-
deringly to Usher, as I led him with a gentle violence from the
window to a seat. "These appearances which bewilder you are
merely electrical phenomena not uncommon; or it may be that
they have their ghastly origin in the rank miasma of the tarn.
Let us close this casement: the air is chilling and dangerous to
your frame. Here is one of your favorite romances. I will read,
and you shall listen; and so we will pass away this terrible night
together. "
The antique volume which I had taken up was the 'Mad
Trist' of Sir Launcelot Canning: but I had called it a favorite of
Usher's more in sad jest than in earnest; for in truth there is
little in its uncouth and unimaginative prolixity which could have
had interest for the lofty and spiritual ideality of my friend. It


## p. 11684 (#304) ##########################################

11684
EDGAR ALLAN POE
was, however, the only book immediately at hand; and I indulged
a vague hope that the excitement which now agitated the hypo-
chondriac might find relief (for the history of mental disorder is
full of similar anomalies) even in the extremeness of the folly
which I should read. Could I have judged, indeed, by the wild
overstrained air of vivacity with which he hearkened, or appar-
ently hearkened, to the words of the tale, I might well have
congratulated myself upon the success of my design.
I had arrived at that well-known portion of the story where
Ethelred, the hero of the Trist, having sought in vain for peace-
able admission into the dwelling of the hermit, proceeds to make
good an entrance by force. Here, it will be remembered, the
words of the narrative run thus:-
"And Ethelred, who was by nature of a doughty heart, and
who was now mighty withal on account of the powerfulness of
the wine which he had drunken, waited no longer to hold parley
with the hermit, who in sooth was of an obstinate and maliceful
turn: but feeling the rain upon his shoulders, and fearing the
rising of the tempest, uplifted his mace outright, and with blows,
made quickly room in the plankings of the door for his gaunt-
leted hand; and now pulling therewith sturdily, he so cracked
and ripped and tore all asunder, that the noise of the dry and
hollow-sounding wood alarumed and reverberated throughout the
forest. "
At the termination of this sentence I started, and for a mo-
ment paused; for it appeared to me (although I at once con-
cluded that my excited fancy had deceived me) —it appeared to me
that from some very remote portion of the mansion, there came
indistinctly to my ears what might have been, in its exact simi-
larity of character, the echo (but a stifled and dull one certainly)
of the very cracking and ripping sound which Sir Launcelot had
so particularly described. It was beyond doubt the coincidence.
alone which had arrested my attention; for amid the rattling of
the sashes of the casements, and the ordinary commingled noises
of the still increasing storm, the sound in itself had nothing,
surely, which should have interested or disturbed me.
I con-
tinued the story:—
"But the good champion Ethelred, now entering within the
door, was sore enraged and amazed to perceive no signal of the
maliceful hermit: but in the stead thereof, a dragon of a scaly
and prodigious demeanor, and of a fiery tongue, which sate in
guard before a palace of gold, with a floor of silver; and upon


## p. 11685 (#305) ##########################################

EDGAR ALLAN POE
11685
the wall there hung a shield of shining brass with this legend
enwritten:
-:
<<<Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath bin;
Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win. '
And Ethelred uplifted his mace, and struck upon the head of the
dragon, which fell before him, and gave up his pesty breath with
a shriek so horrid and harsh, and withal so piercing, that Ethel-
red had fain to close his ears with his hands against the dread-
ful noise of it, the like whereof was never before heard. "
Here again I paused abruptly, and now with a feeling of
wild amazement; for there could be no doubt whatever that in
this instance I did actually hear (although from what direction
it proceeded, I found it impossible to say) a low and apparently
distant, but harsh, protracted, and most unusual screaming or
grating sound,- the exact counterpart of what my fancy had
already conjured up for the dragon's unnatural shriek as de-
scribed by the romancer.
Oppressed as I certainly was, upon the occurrence of this
second and most extraordinary coincidence, by a thousand con-
flicting sensations, in which wonder and extreme terror were
predominant, I still retained sufficient presence of mind to avoid
exciting, by any observation, the sensitive nervousness of my
companion. I was by no means certain that he had noticed the
sounds in question; although assuredly a strange alteration had
during the last few minutes taken place in his demeanor. From
a position fronting my own, he had gradually brought round his
chair so as to sit with his face to the door of the chamber; and
thus I could but partially perceive his features, although I saw
that his lips trembled as if he were murmuring inaudibly. His
head had dropped upon his breast; yet I knew that he was not
asleep, from the wide and rigid opening of the eye as I caught
a glance of it in profile. The motion of his body, too, was at
variance with this idea; for he rocked from side to side with
a gentle yet constant and uniform sway. Having rapidly taken
notice of all this, I resumed the narrative of Sir Launcelot, which
thus proceeded:
-:
"And now the champion, having escaped from the terrible
fury of the dragon, bethinking himself of the brazen shield, and
of the breaking up of the enchantment which was upon it,
removed the carcass from out of the way before him, and


## p. 11686 (#306) ##########################################

11686
EDGAR ALLAN POE
approached valorously over the silver pavement of the castle to
where the shield was upon the wall; which in sooth tarried not
for his full coming, but fell down at his feet upon the silver
floor, with a mighty great and terrible ringing sound. ”
No sooner had these syllables passed my lips, than-as if a
shield of brass had indeed, at the moment, fallen heavily upon
a floor of silver-I became aware of a distinct, hollow, metallic
and clamorous, yet apparently muffled reverberation. Completely
unnerved, I leaped to my feet; but the measured rocking move-
ment of Usher was undisturbed. I rushed to the chair in which
he sat. His eyes were bent fixedly before him, and throughout
his whole countenance there reigned a stony rigidity. But as I
placed my hand upon his shoulder, there came a strong shud-
der over his whole person; a sickly smile quivered about his lips,
and I saw that he spoke in a low, hurried, and gibbering mur-
mur, as if unconscious of my presence. Bending closely over
him, I at length drank in the hideous import of his words.
"Not hear it? -yes, I hear it, and have heard it. Long-
long-long—many minutes, many hours, many days, have I
heard it - yet I dared not oh, pity me, miserable wretch that I
am! I dared not-I dared not speak! We have put her living
in the tomb! Said I not that my senses were acute? I now tell
you that I heard her first feeble movements in the hollow coffin.
I heard them-many, many days ago-yet I dared not-I
dared not speak! And now-to-night- Ethelred-ha! ha! - the
breaking of the hermit's door, and the death-cry of the dragon,
and the clangor of the shield! say rather the rending of her
coffin, and the grating of the iron hinges of her prison, and her
struggles within the coppered archway of the vault! Oh, whither
shall I fly? Will she not be here anon? Is she not hurrying to
upbraid me for my haste? Have I not heard her footstep on the
stair? Do I not distinguish that heavy and horrible beating of
her heart? Madman! "— here he sprang furiously to his feet, and
shrieked out his syllables, as if in the effort he were giving up
his soul - "Madman! I tell you that she now stands without the
door! »
-――
As if in the superhuman energy of his utterance there had
been found the potency of a spell-the huge antique panels to
which the speaker pointed, threw slowly back upon the instant
their ponderous ebony jaws. It was the work of the rushing
gust; but then, without those doors there did stand the lofty


## p. 11687 (#307) ##########################################


EDGAR ALLAN POE
11687
and enshrouded figure of the lady Madeline of Usher. There was
blood upon her white robes, and the evidence of some bitter
struggle upon every portion of her emaciated frame.
For a
moment she remained trembling and reeling to and fro upon.
the threshold; then, with a low, moaning cry, fell heavily inward
upon the person of her brother, and in her violent and now final
death agonies bore him to the floor a corpse, and a victim to the
terror he had anticipated.
From that chamber, and from that mansion, I fled aghast.
The storm was still abroad in all its wrath as I found myself
crossing the old causeway. Suddenly there shot along the path a
wild light, and I turned to see whence a gleam so unusual could
have issued; for the vast house and its shadows were alone
behind me. The radiance was that of the full, setting, and blood-
red moon, which now shone vividly through that once barely dis-
cernible fissure, of which I have before spoken as extending from
the roof of the building, in a zigzag direction, to the base. While
I gazed, this fissure rapidly widened; there came a fierce breath
of the whirlwind; the entire orb of the satellite burst at once
upon my sight; my brain reeled as I saw the mighty walls rush-
ing asunder; there was a long tumultuous shouting sound like
the voice of a thousand waters-and the deep and dark tarn at
my feet closed sullenly and silently over the fragments of the
"House of Usher. "
FOR ANNIE
THAN
HANK Heaven! the crisis
The danger-is past,
And the lingering illness
Is over at last-
And the fever called "Living"
Is conquered at last.
—
Sadly, I know,
I am shorn of my strength,
And no muscle I move
As I lie at full length;
But no matter! - I feel
I am better at length.
And I rest so composedly
Now, in my bed,


## p. 11688 (#308) ##########################################

11688
EDGAR ALLAN POE
That any beholder
Might fancy me dead,-
Might start at beholding me,
Thinking me dead.
The moaning and groaning,
The sighing and sobbing,
Are quieted now,
With that horrible throbbing
At heart;-ah, that horrible,
Horrible throbbing!
The sickness, the nausea,
The pitiless pain,
Have ceased, with the fever
That maddened my brain —
With the fever called "Living"
That burned in my brain.
And oh! of all tortures,
That torture the worst
Has abated,- the terrible
Torture of thirst
For the naphthaline river
Of Passion accurst;-
I have drank of a water
That quenches all thirst:
Of a water that flows,
With a lullaby sound,
From a spring but a very few
Feet under ground
From a cavern not very far
Down under ground.
And ah! let it never
Be foolishly said
-
That my room it is gloomy,
And narrow my bed;
For man never slept
In a different bed-
And, to sleep, you must slumber
In just such a bed.
My tantalized spirit
Here blandly reposes,


## p. 11689 (#309) ##########################################

EDGAR ALLAN POE
11689
Forgetting, or never
Regretting, its roses,-
Its old agitations
Of myrtles and roses.
-
For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies
A holier odor
About it, of pansies,-
A rosemary odor
Commingled with pansies -
With rue and the beautiful
Puritan pansies.
And so it lies happily,
Bathing in many
A dream of the truth
And the beauty of Annie,-
Drowned in a bath
Of the tresses of Annie.
She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed,
And then I fell gently
To sleep on her breast,-
Deeply to sleep
From the heaven of her breast.
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.
And I lie so composedly
Now, in my bed,
(Knowing her love,)
That you fancy me dead;
And I rest so contentedly
Now, in my bed,
—
(With her love at my breast,)
That you fancy me dead,-
That you shudder to look at me,
Thinking me dead.
But my heart it is brighter
Than all of the many
―


## p. 11690 (#310) ##########################################

11690
EDGAR ALLAN POE
Stars in the sky,
For it sparkles with Annie;
It glows with the light
Of the love of my Annie,-
With the thought of the light
Of the eyes of my Annie.
SONG FROM THE ASSIGNATION›
THOU
HOU wast that all 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,
"Onward! "—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! "
Now all my hours are trances;
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy dark eye glances
And where thy footstep gleams,
In what ethereal dances,
By what Italian streams.
Alas for that accursed time
They bore thee o'er the billow,
From Love to titled age and crime,
And an unholy pillow! -
From me, and from our misty clime,
Where weeps the silver willow.


## p. 11691 (#311) ##########################################

EDGAR ALLAN POE
11691
THE RAVEN
O
NCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping-rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door:
Only this, and nothing more. "
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow: vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow. sorrow for the lost Lenore,
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,-
Nameless here for evermore.
—
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me-filled me- with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door:
This it is, and nothing more. "
—
Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer,-
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you. " Here I opened wide the door
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fear-
ing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore! "
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore! "
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window-lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore,-
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore:
'Tis the wind, and nothing more. "


## p. 11692 (#312) ##########################################

11692
EDGAR ALLAN POE
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
he:
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door,-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door,—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebon bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the Nightly shore.
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore! "
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore. "
Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door -
With such name as "Nevermore. "
But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered:
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown be-
fore!
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before! "
Then the bird said, "Nevermore. "
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store;
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore,—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of Never- nevermore! >»
But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and
door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore. "


## p. 11693 (#313) ##########################################

EDGAR ALLAN POE
11693
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,—
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen
censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"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 the lost Lenore! »
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore. "
"Prophet! " cried I, "thing of evil! -prophet still, if bird or devil! —
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted,-
On this home by horror haunted,- tell me truly, I implore,
Is there is there balm in Gilead? Tell me! tell me, I implore! "
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore. "
"Prophet! " cried I, "thing of evil! -prophet still, if bird or devil! -
By that heaven that bends above us,—by that God we both adore,-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore –
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore. »
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore. »
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend! " I shrieked, up-
starting.
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door! »
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore. "
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!


## p. 11694 (#314) ##########################################

11694
EDGAR ALLAN POE
HEA
Н
THE BELLS
I
EAR the sledges with the bells,-
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells,-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II
Hear the mellow wedding bells,-
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! How it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing.
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells,-
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!


## p. 11695 (#315) ##########################################

EDGAR ALLAN POE
11695
III
Hear the loud alarum bells,-
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now now to sit, or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
―
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells,
Of the bells,-
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells,-
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
IV
Hear the tolling of the bells,-
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!


## p. 11696 (#316) ##########################################

11696
EDGAR ALLAN POE
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people — ah, the people —
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone,—
They are neither man nor woman,
They are neither brute nor human:
They are Ghouls;
And their king it is who tolls,
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls a pæan from the bells;
And his merry bosom swells
With the pean of the bells,
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pæan of the bells,—
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells,-
Of the bells, bells, bells,—
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells,-
Of the bells, bells, bells,—
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,-
Bells, bells, bells,-
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
ANNABEL LEE
I
T WAS many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know,
By the name of Annabel Lee;


## p. 11697 (#317) ##########################################

EDGAR ALLAN POE
11697
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love,-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me:
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we:
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:
XX-732
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling-my darling-my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.


## p. 11698 (#318) ##########################################

11698
EDGAR ALLAN POE
ULALUME
THE
HE skies they were ashen and sober,
The leaves they were crispèd and sere,-
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid-region of Weir,—
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
Here once, through an alley Titanic
Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul,-
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriac rivers that roll-
As the lavas that restlessly roll-
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the pole,-
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek,
In the realms of the boreal pole.
Our talk had been serious and sober,
But our thoughts they were palsied and sere,-
Our memories were treacherous and sere:
For we knew not the month was October,
And we marked not the night of the year;-
(Ah, night of all nights in the year! )
We noted not the dim lake of Auber
―――――――
And now, as the night was senescent,
And star-dials pointed to morn,-
As the star-dials hinted of morn,-
At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplicate horn,—
Astarte's bediamonded crescent,
Distinct with its duplicate horn.
-
(Though once we had journeyed down here),—
Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
And I said, "She is warmer than Dian:
She rolls through an ether of sighs,—
She revels in a region of sighs:
-
-


## p. 11699 (#319) ##########################################

EDGAR ALLAN POE
11699
She has seen that the tears are not dry on
These cheeks, where the worm never dies,
And has come past the stars of the Lion
To point us the path to the skies,-
To the Lethean peace of the skies,-
Come up, in despite of the Lion,
To shine on us with her bright eyes,-
Come up through the lair of the Lion,
With love in her luminous eyes. "
But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said, «< Sadly this star I mistrust,-
Her pallor I strangely mistrust:
Oh, hasten! oh, let us not linger!
Oh, fly! - let us fly! -for we must. "
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings until they trailed in the dust,-
In agony sobbed, letting sink her
Plumes till they trailed in the dust,—
Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.
-
I replied, "This is nothing but dreaming:
Let us on by this tremulous light!
Let us bathe in this crystalline light!
Its Sibylic splendor is beaming
With Hope and in Beauty to-night;
See! it flickers up the sky through the night!
Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,
And be sure it will lead us aright.
We safely may trust to a gleaming
That cannot but guide us aright,
Since it flickers up to heaven through the night. "
Thus I pacified Psyche, and kissed her,
And tempted her out of her gloom,-
And conquered her scruples and gloom :
And we passed to the end of the vista,
But were stopped by the door of a tomb-
By the door of a legended tomb;
And I said, "What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legended tomb? "
She replied, "Ulalume! - Ulalume! —
'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume! "


## p. 11700 (#320) ##########################################

EDGAR ALLAN POE
11700
Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crispèd and sere,
As the leaves that were withering and sere:
And I cried, "It was surely October,-
On this very night of last year,
That I journeyed-I journeyed down here,-
That I brought a dread burden down here:
On this night, of all nights in the year,
Ah, what demon has tempted me here?
Well I know now this dim lake of Auber,
This misty mid-region of Weir,-
Well I know now this dank tarn of Auber,
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. "
TO HELEN
H
ELEN, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary, wayworn wanderer bore
To his native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand!
The agate lamp within thy hand,
Ah! Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy Land!
-


## p. 11701 (#321) ##########################################

11701
POLYBIUS
(204-122 B. C. )
BY B. PERRIN
OLYBIUS of Megalopolis in Arcadia must rank as the third
Greek historian, Herodotus and Thucydides being first and
second. He was also an eminent soldier, statesman, and
diplomat. He took the most active part in the conduct of the great
Achæan League from 181 B. C. to 168 B. C. , as his father Lycortas
had done before him, and as Philopomen had done before Lycortas.
By inheritance and by actual experience,
Polybius was better qualified than any one
else to tell of the great era of Greek fed-
eration, and he is our chief authority for
this period. When Greek federation also
yielded to the irresistible advance of the
Roman power, Polybius had such an alto-
gether exceptional experience that he was
justified in his own eyes, and in the eyes
of the best of his countrymen, in allying
himself prominently with the Roman power.
This exceptional experience was an enforced
residence at Rome for seventeen years. Dur-
ing these seventeen years he won his way
into public esteem, and enjoyed intimate,
even affectionate intercourse with some of the most influential Ro-
mans of the age, such as Emilius Paulus, and Scipio Africanus the
Younger. He lived in the house of the former, as the instructor of
his sons Fabius and Scipio. He stood by the latter's side at the final
destruction of Carthage in 147-6 B. C. One year later he returned to
his native country, which in his absence and against his advice had
rashly revolted from Rome. His influence with prominent Romans
mitigated somewhat the horrors of the sack of Corinth by Mummius.
His last political task was one intrusted to him by the Roman con-
querors. It was that of reconciling his conquered countrymen to their
defeat, and to the Roman rule. He accomplished this delicate task
in such a way as to retain the confidence of the Romans without
forfeiting the gratitude of the Greeks. This closed his active career.

POLYBIUS


## p. 11702 (#322) ##########################################

11702
POLYBIUS
It had especially qualified him to write of four great subjects with a
knowledge absolutely unsurpassed. These four great subjects were:
The Achæan League, or Hellenic Federations; The Roman Power
of the Second Century B. C. ; The Roman Conquest of Carthage;
The Roman Conquest of Greece. He devoted the rest of his life
to the composition of the history which finally included these four
themes, and died at the good old age of eighty-two.
His experience in public life is unique in many ways, as is also
the history which is his imperishable monument. It was a marvel-
ous combination of events which enabled a leading Greek to become
practically a leading Roman, without hearing from either side the
charge of treachery. But Polybius was compelled to go to Rome,
and only the force and dignity of his character prevented his seven-
teen years of exile from being what they were to his fellow exiles,
a prolonged imprisonment. As adviser and officer of the Achæan
League, which included at last all Peloponnesus, the policy of Polyb-
ius was to conform loyally to all actual agreements of the League
with Rome, but yet to maintain the dignity of the League, and to
guard jealously all the independence and power still left it. Polyb-
ius, that is, was a Nationalist. But there was a party of Roman-
izers in the Achæan League. These were willing, for the sake of
private gain, to further a more rapid advance of Roman interests, a
more speedy absorption of Greece by the Roman Empire. The polit-
ical situation was not unlike that of the previous century, when
Demosthenes fought a losing fight for Hellenic as opposed to Mace-
donian nationalism. Polybius had a sturdier and more philosophical
nature than Demosthenes, and his antagonists were not so disinter-
ested as was Phocion, the greatest opponent of Demosthenes. But
in other respects the political situations were similar. Rome is
merely to be substituted for Macedon, and Macedon is to be ranged
along with Athens and Sparta as a subject power. For in 168 Rome
had conquered Macedon; and soon after, ten Roman commissioners
had appeared in Achaia to establish more firmly there the Roman
power. They went as far as they could go without actual conquest,
aided by the Romanizing party in the League. One thousand of the
most influential Achæans of the Nationalist party were arrested and
deported to Italy, to be tried there for their lives.
Polybius was of course one of these. His companions were never
brought to trial, but distributed about for imprisonment in the small
towns of Italy. After seventeen years of deferred justice, the three
hundred surviving exiles were contemptuously sent home by the
Roman Senate. Cato, brutal even in his mercy, had said that "the
only question that remained was whether the undertakers of Italy
or of Greece were to have the burying of them. " But Polybius had


## p. 11703 (#323) ##########################################

POLYBIUS
11703
obtained permission to reside during those long years at Rome,
doubtless through the influence of Æmilius Paulus, who, as procon-
sul of Macedonia, had disbelieved the charges brought against the
exiles. Polybius even entered the family of the greatest Roman of
his age, and became the teacher, counselor, and beloved friend of his
greater son Scipio Africanus the Younger. His seventeen years of
exile brought him, therefore, unsurpassed opportunities to become
acquainted with the Roman State. He was free from perplexing
political turmoil, free also from all the restraints of a prisoner. The
highest circles of Roman society were open to him, and the liberality
of Scipio enabled him to devote himself to historical studies.
So when his exile also was closed by decree of the Senate, he was
specially qualified to take the part of mediator between Rome and his
own distracted country. Fervor of loyalty, romantic patriotism, might
have led him to a forlorn-hope attempt to stay the advance of Roman
power. But Polybius had neither fervor nor romance. He was emi-
nently practical by nature, a Roman by temperament rather than a
Greek; and his long residence in Rome, among the chief Romans,
had only emphasized his natural tendencies. He seems to have
been especially gifted and trained by Providence to be an acceptable
guide for the Eastern world in its transition from Greek to Roman
sway.
The history of Polybius was in forty books. Of these only the
first five have come down to us intact. Of the rest we have more or
less generous fragments. But the plan of the whole is clear. The
main part, Books iii. -xxx. , covers the events of those wonderful fifty-
three years, 220-168 B. C. , during which the Romans subdued the
world. "Can any one," he asks at the outset, "be so indifferent or
idle as not to care to know by what means, and under what kind of
polity, almost the whole inhabited world was conquered and brought
under the dominion of the single city of Rome, and that too within
a period of not quite fifty-three years? " This was an event, as
Polybius thought, for which the past afforded no precedent, and to
which the future could show no parallel. Books i.