The Raven (Illustrated). Эдгар Аллан По

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СКАЧАТЬ which imparts to a work of art so much of that richness (to borrow from colloquy a forcible term), which we are too fond of confounding with the ideal. It is the excess of the suggested meaning — it is the rendering this the upper instead of the under-current of the theme — which turns into prose (and that of the very flattest kind), the so-called poetry of the so-called transcendentalists.

      Holding these opinions, I added the two concluding stanzas of the poem — their suggestiveness being thus made to pervade all the narrative which has preceded them. The under-current of meaning is rendered first apparent in the line —

      Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

       Quoth the Raven “Nevermore!”

      It will be observed that the words, “from out my heart,” involve the first metaphorical expression in the poem. They, with the answer, “Nevermore,” dispose the mind to seek a moral in all that has been previously narrated. The reader begins now to regard the Raven as emblematical — but it is not until the very last line of the very last stanza that the intention of making him emblematical of Mournful and never ending Remembrance is permitted distinctly to be seen:

      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 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.

      The Raven by Sarah Helen Whitman

       Table of Contents

       As a valentine for E. A. Poe

      Raven, from the dim dominions

       On the Night's Plutonian shore,

       Oft I hear thy dusky pinions

       Wave and flutter round my door—

       See the shadow of thy pinions

       Float along the moon-lit floor;

       Often, from the oak-woods glooming

       Round some dim ancestral tower,

       In the lurid distance looming—

       Some high solitary tower—

       I can hear thy storm-cry booming

       Through the lonely midnight hour.

       When the moon is at the zenith,

       Thou dost haunt the moated hall,

       Where the marish flower greeneth

       O'er the waters, like a pall—

       Where the House of Usher leaneth,

       Darkly nodding to its fall:

       There I see thee, dimly gliding—

       See thy black plumes waving slow—

       In its hollow casements hiding,

       When their shadow yawns below,

       To the sullen tarn confiding

       The dark secrets of their woe:—

       See thee, when the stars are burning

       In their cressets, silver clear—

       When Ligeia's spirit yearning

       For the earth-life, wanders near—

       When Morella's soul returning,

       Weirdly whispers "I am here."

       Once, within a realm enchanted,

       On a far isle of the seas,

       By unearthly visions haunted,

       By unearthly melodies,

       Where the evening sunlight slanted

       Golden through the garden trees—

       Where the dreamy moonlight dozes,

       Where the early violets dwell,

       Listening to the silver closes

       Of a lyric loved too well,

       Suddenly, among the roses,

       Like a cloud, thy shadow fell.

       Once, where Ulalume lies sleeping,

       Hard by Auber's haunted mere,

       With the ghouls a vigil keeping,

       On that night of all the year,

       Came thy souding pinions, sweeping

       Through the leafless woods of Weir!

       Oft, with Proserpine I wander

       On the Night's Plutonian shore,

       Hoping, fearing, while I ponder

       On thy loved and lost Lenore—

       On the demon doubts that sunder

       Soul from soul forevermore;

       Trusting, though with sorrow laden,

       That when life's dark dream is o'er,

       By whatever name the maiden

       Lives within thy mystic lore,

       Eiros, in that distant Aidenn,

       Shall his Charmion meet once more.

      The Raven by Edward Everett Hale

       Table of Contents

      ‘The Raven’ by Edgar Allan Poe is the one of his poems which is most inseparably connected with his name in common recollection. It is entirely expressive of the dominant sentiment of his life, the longing and regret for beauty which he had once known; it is an excellent example of his most popular qualities as a versifier; and he himself has selected it as a means of explaining how a poet might develop his ideas into poetic form. Like ‘Annabel Lee,’ ‘Ulalume’ and others of Poe's best-known verse, ‘The Raven’ is a recurrence of the thought of a beautiful love early known and early lost. In its form it has СКАЧАТЬ