Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1864-11-22
From the N. Z. Evening Post.
One Of Poe's Experiments toward The
Raven

q ANhfOhs
The assertion lately made by correspondent
OF the London Morning Star, that Edgar A. Poe
, paglaTized The Raven from the Persian, has
brought out several letters fl ON class Of Eng
llshnien who look upon the celebrated produc-
tion as g the greatest single poem that America
has ever produced. A writer in \ otes and
Queries Indignantly protests against the trans.
latlon theory, and only hopes that, it il be true
we have more 0i the same stamp, and done by 90
competent men as Edgar A. Poe. But the
most Important result OF the discussion is note
from MIR. Macready, the tragedian, part Of
which We suboin
:" / think the following fantastic poem IA
copy OF which | eHclose), written by the poet
whiie experimenting toward the production oil
that wonderful and beautiful piece Of mechanism
(Ihe Rayen), may possibly interest your nu-
merous readers. {" The Fire Fend' (the title
OF the poem | enclose), MIR. Poe considered in.
complete, and threw 1t aside in disgust. Some
months afterwards, finding it amongst his
papers, he sent 1t in letter TO friend labelled
iaceIiously, to be read by freight at mid
night, after thirty drops Of laudanum.' was
Intimately acquainted with the mother-in-law
OF Poe, and have frequently c0nyersod with her
respecting The Raven, and she assured me
'hat ne mad tho idea in hIs mind Tor some years
ana used frequently 10 repeat verses OF 10 to her
ana ask her opinlOn oi them freq iently, making
alterations and improvements according to tho
mood he CHANGED ~ be in at the time
There are, certainly, remarkable dlscrepan-
ces between this account and that which Poe
has himself given TO the world In one of the
In ost famous OF his critical essays.
The poem which Mr.. Macready transmitted
to the .horning Star is very long, and contain,
much which Is terrible, ghastly and lso horrible,
ior print. Its author probably never designed
that 1t should see the light. We give below
the best sIanzas, and the reader will not be slow
TO discover the presence Of that same wierd,
wonderfully musical, sensuous harmony which
has made this singular and erratic genius the
head OF a distinct school OF literature.
"rHE TIAK PnSD a sIsHrnARs.
" In the deepest death Of midnight while the sad snd
Still noalng fainy echoed from the forest chapel
bell
Family, fA.rngy floating er the sable wave, of air
That thfo' the midnight rolling chafsd and blowy
with the tollihg-
ln my chamber lay dreaming by the areishps atful
And my dreams were dreams iorsshadowsd on heart
foredoomed to care
L" on the red hearths redd.a centre. from bl..lns
knoi OF oak,
Seemed to Abe and grin this phantom when In ten.rI
awOke
And my slunberous s,,las .trsinns, staggered. to
u IN that dread vision seeming, turned my gaze to-
ward the cleaning
Hearth, aud there God saw III and from cut its
spat aeoa.siess, ashins, hi,slrg bubbns, sursing
stream II gore
Then in Deaths seeming sh doW IN the Icy pail Of
lay, eLsu, came hOarss and hidsous murmpr omy
Came murmsr like the murmur Of assassin. in their
Hu,.erins, Higher higher high.rl l am Demon .t
III Fire.
Arch Fend Of the Fire, and each blazing rsof my
And my sweetest incense Is the blood and tear. ny
victims weep
" How Ir,yei on the prairie how roar among the
How Ilaugh when from the village DER the snOv the red
flame shines,
And hear the shrieks Of terror, with life In every
breath
How scream with lambent Laughter, as hurl each
Down The el abyss Of are until higher higher higher
Leap the hgh press my altar In their merry dance OF
death
In the presence Of this hidoous creation Of his
imagination he remained palsed with fear, till
THE martins, from tho edge, Of Its Ilehep-lidded
ls1ges
SKINNED thro the russet arches where the light in torn
ales marches,
Like routed army struggling ,hrO' the .errIsi ranks
ofoak
Tbro' my ivy fstsd easements filtered Ia stemulous
note,
From the tall aud stately linden vhere robin svssd
his throat
ausrolou' Quaker.b sastsd robin, calling quainty fr
| his msiei
Then started up, unbddden from my slumbsr, night
mare ridden,
with the memory Of that hredemon In my central are.
ON my eyes interior mirror like The shadow Of fate
"Ahl the dendlsh are had smoudered TO a white and
| formless heap,
And no Knot OF oak was asmlngn 1t famed npon my
| sleep
But around It's very centre, where the demon face had
shone,
FOrked shadows wsmd to linssr, pointing as with spec.
| ttai nng4r
To Bible massive golden, on table carved and oldsn,
And bowed and said, All power Is Of God, Of God
| alone"
|
Gen. Grant sent the following dispatch TO