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A bright-green tinge succeeds the brown
Upon the southern hill. Off to the woods! a pleasant scene! Here sprouts the fresh young wintergreen,
There swells a mossy mound; Though in the hollows drifts are piled, The wandering wind is sweet and mild,
And buds are bursting round.
The violet, nestling low,
Its purple streaks to show.
The courier of the band
Upon its slender wand!
We look up with a start,
O'erhead the pigeons dart;
They wheel in distant flight.
Within its clefts from sight.
Its thick and verdant wreath,
Its rich delicious breath.
The robin's mottled breast
To frame its summer nest.
Warmer is each successive sky,
More soft the breezes pass,
Upon the thick green grass.
Cowslips are by the rill;
And swamps have voices shrill.
Has clothed the forest now;
This vivid, gorgeous show.
Night brings her soft sweet moon;
Melts blooming into June.
EDGAR ALLAN POE. [Born in Baltimore in January 1811 ; died in the same city on 7th October 1849. The most intense artist among the natives of the American Republic. This most original, fascinating, and admirable inventor in poetry and fiction belonged to a family of very good position. His father married an actress, and became an actor, and both parents died when Edgar, a remarkably beautiful boy, was but two years of age. A wealthy merchant in Richmond, Mr. Allan, adopted him. I'oe's life was an intemperate one, in every sense of the word. Getting into scrapes during his University course in Virginia, he started off to fight for the independence of Greece ; but, straying away to St. Petersburg instead, he soon returned home destitute in 1829. His conduct to the newly-married second wife of Mr. Allan disgusted that kindly old gentleman. The youth then entered and got expelled from the Military Academy of West Point ; and his adopted father, dying soon afterwards, left him wholly unprovided for. Poe next tried literature, in various miscellaneous forms : in 1841, a collection of his romantic fictions, named Tales of the Grotesque and the Arabesque, laid the foundation of his fame. Some years before this, he had married his cousin, Virginia Clemm, who died in 1847. His extreme love for his wife, and—what is more observable—for his mother-in-law, forms the most amiable trait in his personal history. He was afterwards engaged to a literary widow in Rhode Island : but at last he purposely disgusted her, and the match was broken off. He next courted a lady of fortune in Richmond ; and was on his way from that city to New York, to settle some literary arrangements prior to marriage, when, stopping at Baltimore, he met some old acquaintances ; spent the night in a debauch ; wandered out into the streets; and was found next morning half dead from the excitement and exposure. He was removed to a hospital, and there died. While his bodily remains are mouldering unmarked in the cemetery of Baltimore, his fame has spread apace”; and thousands of men and women bask in the beauty or thrill to the terrors of his mind, without either knowing, or much needing to care, what number or what sorts of antics had been crowded into that brief tragicomedy while he yet had to “strut and fret his hour upon the stage "].
THE HAUNTED PALACE,
By good angels tenanted,
Radiant palace-reared its head.
It stood there:
Over fabric half so fair !
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
Time long ago);
In that sweet day,
A winged odour went away.
Through two luminous windows, saw
1 It has been stated that this lady was the “ Annabel Lee of
But the poem itself seems to be quite inconsistent with such an assumption, and to be more likely to relate to the poet's deceased wife-or indeed it may be wholly imaginary.
Spirits moving musically
To a lute's well-tuned law,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
Was the fair palace door,
And sparkling evermore,
Was but to sing,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
Assailed the monarch's high estate: Ah let us mourn !—for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate ! And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed
Of the old time entombed.
Through the red-litten windows, see
To a discordant melody;
Through the pale door
And laugh—but sinile no more.
In a kingdom by the sea,
By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea :
I and my Annabel Lee ;
Coveted her and me.
In this kingdom by the sea,
My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsman came,
And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
Went envying her and me-
In this kingdom by the sea)
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
Of those who were older than we-
far wiser than weAnd neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
In the sepulchre there by the sea,