Nor long ago, the writer of these lines,
In the mad pride of intellectuality,
Maintained "the power of words"-denied that ever
A thought arose within the human brain
Beyond the utterance of the human tongue:
And now, as if in mockery of that boast,
Two words-two foreign soft dissyllables-
Italian tones, made only to be murmured
By angels dreaming in the moonlit "dew
That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill,"
Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart,
Unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought,
Richer, far wilder, far diviner visions
Than even the seraph harper, Israfel,
(Who has "the sweetest voice of all God's creatures,")
Could hope to utter. And I my spells are broken.
The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand.
With thy dear name as text, though bidden by thee,
I cannot write-I cannot speak or think—
Alas, I cannot feel; for 'tis not feeling,
This standing motionless upon the golden
Threshold of the wide-open gate of dreams,
Gazing, entranced, adown the gorgeous vista,
And thrilling as I see, upon the right,
Upon the left, and all the way along,
Amid unpurpled vapors, far away
Te where the prospect terminates-thee only
THE skies they were ashen and sobe•;
The leaves they were crisped 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 Weiz.
Here once, through an alley Titantic,
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
(Though once we had journeyed down here)→ Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
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.
"She is warmer than Dian : She rolls through an ether of sighsShe revels in a region of sighs:
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 skiesTo the Lethean peace of the skies— Come up, in despite of the Lion,
To shine on us with her bright eyesCome up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes."
But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said "Sadly this star I mistrustHer 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 Sybilic 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!"
heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crisped 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 "
HEAR the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their inelody 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 tintinabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
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!
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