The weekly Butte record., 1861-01-12
A Remarkable Poem.


Miss Lizzie Doten, a Springfield trance speak
er, at the close of recent lecture in Boston
She professed to give it improptu, so far as she
was concerned, and to speak under the direct
influence of the sirit Of Edgar A. Poe. What
ever may be the truth about its production
the poem is in several respects a remarkable
one. Miss Doten is apparently incapable Of
originating such poem. If it was written for
her by some one else, and merely committed to
memory and recited by her, the poem is never.
theless wonderful as a reproduction of the sin
gular music and ALTERATION of Poe's STYLE and
as manifesting the same intensity of feeling
Whoever wrote the poem must have been ex.
ceedingly familiar with Poe, and deeply in
sympathy with his spirit. But if Miss Doten
is honest, and the poem originated as she says
it did, it is unquestionably the most astonishing
thing that Spiritualism has produced. 1t does
not follow, necessarily, in that case, that Poe
himself made the poem-although we are ask.
cd to believe great many spiritual things on
less cogent evidence-but it is, in any view O:
it that may be taken, very singular and mys-
terious production. There is in the second
verse an alusiun to previous poem that pur-
ported to come from the spirit of Poe, which
was published several years since, and attract
ed much attention, but the following poem is
of higher order, and much more like Poe
than the other.-Spring field Republican.
From the throne of life eternal,
From the home of love supernal,
Where the angel feet make music over all the starry
Mortals, have come to meet you
Come with words of peace to greet you.
And to tell you of the glory that is mine forevermore
Once before found mortal
Waiting at the heavenly portal
Waiting but to catch some echo from that ever
opening door.
Then seized his quickened being
And through all his inward seeing,
Caused my burning inspiration in a fiery food to
pour,
Now come more meekly human,
And the weak lips of a woman
Touch with fire from off the altar, not with burnings
as Of yore;
But in holy love descending,
With her chastened being blending,
would fill your souls with music from the bright
celestial shore.
As one heart yearns for another,
As child turns to its mother,
From the golden gates of glory turn to the earth
more,
Where drained the cup of sndness
Where my soul was stung to Madness
And life's hitter burning billows swept my burden
ed being DER.
Here the harpies and the ravens,
Human vampyres-sordd cravens
Preyed upon my soul and substance till wrthed in
anguish sore;
Life and | then seemed msmated
For felt accursed and fated
Like restless wrathful spirit wandering on the
Stygan shore.
Tortured by nameless yearning,
Like frost-ire, freezing, burning,
Did the purple, pusing life tide through its feyered
channels pour.
Till the golden bowl--Life's token
Into shining shards was broken,
And my chained and chatting spirit leapt from out
its prison door.
But while living, striving dying,
Never did my soul cease CRYING:
" fe who guide the fates and furies, give oh. give
ME, mplore,
From the myriad hosts of nations
From the countless consultations,
One pure spirit that can love me-one that I, too.
can adore!;'
Through this fervent aspiration
Found my fanting soul salvation
For, from out its backened fre-crypts, did my
quickened spirit soar;
And my beautiful ideal
Not too sanity to be real
Burst more brightly on my vision than the fancy
formed Lenore.
Mid the surging seas she found me-
With the pillows breaking round me.
And my saddened sinking spirit in her arms of love
upbore;
Like lone one, weak and weary,
Wandering in the midnight dreary,
On her sinless, sanity bosom, brought me to the
heavenly shore.
Like the breath of blossoms blending,
Like the prayers of saints ascending,
Like the rainbow's seven-hued glory, blend ou,
souls forevermore.
Earthly love and lust enslaved me,
But divinest love hath saved me-
And know now, first and only, how to love and to
adore.
Oh, my mortal friends and brothers.
We are each and all anothers,
And the soul that gives more freely from its trea-
sure hath the more,
Would you lose your life, you find It;
And in giving love, you bind it,
Like an amulet of safety to your heart for evermore
/ understand, Mr.. Jones, that you can turn
anything neater than any other man 10 town.
Yes, Mr.. Smith, said so,"
Mr. Jones, don't like to brag, but there's
no man on earth that can turn anything better
than l can whtte it."
Pooh, nonsence, Mr.. Smith, to talk about
whiting. What can you whittle as well as l
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