Are quieted now,

With that horrible throbbing At heart;-ah, that horrible, Horrible throbbing!

The sickness-the nausea-
The pitiless pain—
Have ceased, with the fever
That maddened my brain-
With the fever called "Living"
That burned in my brain.

And oh! of all tortures,

That torture the worst,
Has abated-the terrible
Torture of thirst,
For the napthaline river
Of Passion accurst!
I have drunk of a water
That quenches all thirst:

Of a water that flows

With a lullaby sound From a spring but a very few Feet under groundFrom a cavern not very far Down under ground.

And ah! let it never

Be foolishly said

That my room it is gloomy,

And narrow my bed;

For man never slept

When the light was extinguished,
She covered me warm,
And she prayed to the angels
To keep me from harm—

To the queen of the angels
To shield me from harm.

And I lie so composedly,
Now, in my bed,
(Knowing her love)

That you fancy me dead;

And I rest so contentedly,
Now, in my bed,

(With her love at my breast)

That you fancy me deadThat you shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead.

But my heart it is brighter
Than all of the many

Stars in the sky,

For it sparkles with Annie

It glows with the light

Of the love of my Annie

With the thought of the light

Of the eyes of my Annie.

Edgar Allan Poe.

118

INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY.

INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY

FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD.

THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight

To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it has been of yore;-
Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no more!

The rainbow comes and goes,

And lovely is the rose;

The moon doth with delight

Look round her when the heavens are bare;

Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;

The sunshine is a glorious birth;

But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth.

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound,

To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong.

The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep,-
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong:
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng,
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;

Land and sea

Give themselves up to jollity,

And with the heart of May
Doth every beast keep holiday;—
Thou child of joy

Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy
Shepherd boy!

Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see

The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,

My head hath its coronal,

The fulness of your bliss, I feel-I feel it all.
O evil day! if I were sullen

While Earth herself is adorning

This sweet May morning;

And the children are pulling
On every side

In a thousand valleys far and wide

Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm:—
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!

-But there's a tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have look'd upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The pansy at my feet

Doth the same tale repeat:

Whither is fled the visionary gleam?

Where is it now, the glory and the dream?