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 't is 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

To where the prospect terminates - thee only.

ULALUME.

HE skies they were ashen and sober;

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 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

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.

And I said "She is warmer than Dian:
She rolls through an ether of sighs-
She 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 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 66
-

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 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 ! "

Then my 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."

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,