The Complete Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe Part 29

IMITATION.

A dark unfathomed tide Of interminable pride-- A mystery, and a dream, Should my early life seem; I say that dream was fraught With a wild and waking thought Of beings that have been, Which my spirit hath not seen, Had I let them pa.s.s me by, With a dreaming eye!

Let none of earth inherit That vision on my spirit; Those thoughts I would control, As a spell upon his soul: For that bright hope at last And that light time have past, And my wordly rest hath gone With a sigh as it pa.s.sed on: I care not though it perish With a thought I then did cherish.

1827.

"THE HAPPIEST DAY."

I. The happiest day--the happiest hour My seared and blighted heart hath known, The highest hope of pride and power, I feel hath flown.

II. Of power! said I? Yes! such I ween But they have vanished long, alas!

The visions of my youth have been-- But let them pa.s.s.

III. And pride, what have I now with thee?

Another brow may ev'n inherit The venom thou hast poured on me-- Be still my spirit!

IV. The happiest day--the happiest hour Mine eyes shall see--have ever seen The brightest glance of pride and power I feel have been:

V. But were that hope of pride and power Now offered with the pain Ev'n _then_ I felt--that brightest hour I would not live again:

VI. For on its wing was dark alloy And as it fluttered--fell An essence--powerful to destroy A soul that knew it well.

1827.

Translation from the Greek.

HYMN TO ARISTOGEITON AND HARMODIUS.

I. Wreathed in myrtle, my sword I'll conceal, Like those champions devoted and brave, When they plunged in the tyrant their steel, And to Athens deliverance gave.

II. Beloved heroes! your deathless souls roam In the joy breathing isles of the blest; Where the mighty of old have their home-- Where Achilles and Diomed rest.

III. In fresh myrtle my blade I'll entwine, Like Harmodius, the gallant and good, When he made at the tutelar shrine A libation of Tyranny's blood.

IV. Ye deliverers of Athens from shame!

Ye avengers of Liberty's wrongs!

Endless ages shall cherish your fame, Embalmed in their echoing songs!

1827

DREAMS.

Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!

My spirit not awakening, till the beam Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.

Yes! though that long dream were of hopeless sorrow, 'Twere better than the cold reality Of waking life, to him whose heart must be, And hath been still, upon the lovely earth, A chaos of deep pa.s.sion, from his birth.

But should it be--that dream eternally Continuing--as dreams have been to me In my young boyhood--should it thus be given, 'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.

For I have revelled when the sun was bright I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light And loveliness,--have left my very heart Inclines of my imaginary apart [1]

From mine own home, with beings that have been Of mine own thought--what more could I have seen?

'Twas once--and only once--and the wild hour From my remembrance shall not pa.s.s--some power Or spell had bound me--'twas the chilly wind Came o'er me in the night, and left behind Its image on my spirit--or the moon Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon Too coldly--or the stars--howe'er it was That dream was that that night-wind--let it pa.s.s.

_I have been_ happy, though in a dream.