Poe’s Brother’s Poetry-Part Three

by Ann Neilson

You may see the previous two posts here and here

I shall proceed. 

For the North American.
Despair! despair!–oh what art thou?
I wish to know thee now–
Art in the blue seas wave
That fain would lave
The tow’ring mountain’s base,
Yet can only chase
The ocean’s sands away?
Or art thou in the childish cry
That mourns for you bright moon on high?
Or art though (when the wilding sea
Is raging fierce, tempestuously)
In the seaman’s heart
When forced to part
From all his soul holds dear,
With nought to leave but one sad tear?–
Or art thou when bright swords are flashing
And gay and glorious souls are dashing,
In vain to save a hero’s life?
Wh falls–but ’tis in honor’s strife–
Or art thou with the lover?
When Hope itself is over–
What shriek is there?
It is Despair–
That wildly,–madly cries, “I’m there.”

[Original.]
LINES, written extempore on a tombstone with a pencil–1827.
There is a something in this holy place
That winds itself around the wearied–tired heart–
So still–nought save the moaning wind
As it rushes thro’ the wild and rankling grass–
(Flourishing green with the bloom of youth–
Luxuriant with the loveliness of life:)
Waking the thoughts which wander
To another and a better world–
And this I gaze upon is Beauty’s grave!
Can the charms that circled in this fairy form
Die forever?–Must the soul that spoke in eyes
Which shone as light’ning from the summer skies,
Moulder in the dust? Must it sleep on
As if the grave would never ope again?
If there is no Eternity–why shrink?
Why languish here?–when Death would be a blank–
An end forever!–‘Tis this reason,
This innate fear of what is reasonable!–
Can’st gaze on that bright heaven
And say, “there is no Eternity!“–the dumb language
Of those peopled stars–the rustling of the summer
wind
Speak to the doubting ear-Believe

[Original.]
ON SEEING A LADY SLEEPING.
Dream’st thou of love?
Are sunny thoughts now playing o’er thy brain?
Or is it wilder’d with an anguishe’d pain?–
Are other worlds now living in thy breast
Where Hope lies still as if she fain would rest,
And Care is flying, in the distance seen
With wildest eye, and sad despairing mien–
As if now jealous of the smile that plays
Upon those lips—like thoughts of other days
Crossing the mind with sad and mournful sweetness–
With smiling sighs–sighs for their transient fleetness–
Or is a thought of madness(readness?) in they heart?
Of disappointment–rashness-and the smart,
Of wounded love! around thee stealing,
With all its wildness–bitterness of feeling,
That wears the soul–as if it lov’d to be
Banquetting on youthful hearts in madden’d ecstacy?

*Once again, the question marks are words that I am not able to discertain.

**These pieces have been copied out of the book Poe’s Brother, by Hervey Allen and Thomas Ollive Mabbott, copyright 1926, book no. 773/1000.

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