But he spoke to re-asure me,
And he kissed my pallid brow,
While a reverie came o're me,
And to the church-yard bore me,
And I sighed to him before me,
Thinking him dead D'Elormie,
"Oh, I am happy now!
And he kissed my pallid brow,
While a reverie came o're me,
And to the church-yard bore me,
And I sighed to him before me,
Thinking him dead D'Elormie,
"Oh, I am happy now!
Poe - 5
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 fromout 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.
1845.
BRIDAL BALLAD.
THE ring is on my hand,
And the wreath is on my brow;
Satins and jewels grand
Are all at my command,
And I am happy now.
And my lord he loves me well;
But, when first he breathed his vow,
I felt my bosom swell--
For the words rang as a knell,
And the voice seemed _his_ who fell
In the battle down the dell,
And who is happy now.
But he spoke to re-asure me,
And he kissed my pallid brow,
While a reverie came o're me,
And to the church-yard bore me,
And I sighed to him before me,
Thinking him dead D'Elormie,
"Oh, I am happy now! "
And thus the words were spoken,
And this the plighted vow,
And, though my faith be broken,
And, though my heart be broken,
Behold the golden token
That _proves_ me happy now!
Would God I could awaken!
For I dream I know not how,
And my soul is sorely shaken
Lest an evil step be taken,--
Lest the dead who is forsaken
May not be happy now.
1845.
NOTES
1. "The Raven" was first published on the 29th January, 1845, in the New
York "Evening Mirror"-a paper its author was then assistant editor of.
It was prefaced by the following words, understood to have been written
by N. P. Willis: "We are permitted to copy (in advance of publication)
from the second number of the "American Review," the following
remarkable poem by Edgar Poe. In our opinion, it is the most effective
single example of 'fugitive poetry' ever published in this country, and
unsurpassed in English poetry for subtle conception, masterly ingenuity
of versification, and consistent sustaining of imaginative lift and
'pokerishness. ' It is one of those 'dainties bred in a book' which we
feed on. It will stick to the memory of everybody who reads it. " In the
February number of the "American Review" the poem was published as
by "Quarles," and it was introduced by the following note, evidently
suggested if not written by Poe himself.
["The following lines from a correspondent-besides the deep, quaint
strain of the sentiment, and the curious introduction of some ludicrous
touches amidst the serious and impressive, as was doubtless intended by
the author-appears to us one of the most felicitous specimens of unique
rhyming which has for some time met our eye. The resources of
English rhythm for varieties of melody, measure, and sound, producing
corresponding diversities of effect, having been thoroughly studied,
much more perceived, by very few poets in the language.
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 fromout 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.
1845.
BRIDAL BALLAD.
THE ring is on my hand,
And the wreath is on my brow;
Satins and jewels grand
Are all at my command,
And I am happy now.
And my lord he loves me well;
But, when first he breathed his vow,
I felt my bosom swell--
For the words rang as a knell,
And the voice seemed _his_ who fell
In the battle down the dell,
And who is happy now.
But he spoke to re-asure me,
And he kissed my pallid brow,
While a reverie came o're me,
And to the church-yard bore me,
And I sighed to him before me,
Thinking him dead D'Elormie,
"Oh, I am happy now! "
And thus the words were spoken,
And this the plighted vow,
And, though my faith be broken,
And, though my heart be broken,
Behold the golden token
That _proves_ me happy now!
Would God I could awaken!
For I dream I know not how,
And my soul is sorely shaken
Lest an evil step be taken,--
Lest the dead who is forsaken
May not be happy now.
1845.
NOTES
1. "The Raven" was first published on the 29th January, 1845, in the New
York "Evening Mirror"-a paper its author was then assistant editor of.
It was prefaced by the following words, understood to have been written
by N. P. Willis: "We are permitted to copy (in advance of publication)
from the second number of the "American Review," the following
remarkable poem by Edgar Poe. In our opinion, it is the most effective
single example of 'fugitive poetry' ever published in this country, and
unsurpassed in English poetry for subtle conception, masterly ingenuity
of versification, and consistent sustaining of imaginative lift and
'pokerishness. ' It is one of those 'dainties bred in a book' which we
feed on. It will stick to the memory of everybody who reads it. " In the
February number of the "American Review" the poem was published as
by "Quarles," and it was introduced by the following note, evidently
suggested if not written by Poe himself.
["The following lines from a correspondent-besides the deep, quaint
strain of the sentiment, and the curious introduction of some ludicrous
touches amidst the serious and impressive, as was doubtless intended by
the author-appears to us one of the most felicitous specimens of unique
rhyming which has for some time met our eye. The resources of
English rhythm for varieties of melody, measure, and sound, producing
corresponding diversities of effect, having been thoroughly studied,
much more perceived, by very few poets in the language.
