Ashtabula telegraph. (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1874-1880, 1874-03-07
AsHTABULA OHIO, SATURDAY MARCH l. 1874
NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS..

lie lOllONlilR SllihluS PONnl a. WV
ed bv Miss Lizzie Duten, "a Spiritual trance
speaker, at the close of recent lecture in
Boston. She prOfessed to give il impromp
tu. so far as she was concerned, and tC
speak under the direct influence OF the
spirit of Edgar A. Poe. Whatever may
be the truth about its production, the pc
EN- is in several respects remarkable one
Miss Doten is apparently incapable q
originating such poem. II it was writ
ten for her by some one else, and merely
committed to memory and recited by her
the poem is nevertheless wonderful as
reproduction of the singular music and al
liberation OF POe's style, and as manifesting
the same intensity of feeling.
Springfield Republican.
From the throne of life eternal.
From the home of love supeInal,
Where the angel feet make music over all
the starry floor
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 l seized LIS quickened being,
And through all bis inward seeing,
Caused my burning inspiration in fiery
food to pour.
Now come more meekly human
And the weak lips of woman
Touch with fire from off the altar, moi
with burnlngs as of yOre,
But in holy love descending,
With her ehastened being blending,
1 would fill your souls with music from
the bright celestial shore.
As one heart yearns for another,
As a child turns to its mother,
From the golden gates of glory turn l TO
the earth once more,
Where l drained the cup of sadness,
Where my soul was stung to madness
And life's bitter, burning pillows, swept
my burdened being DER.
Here the harpies and the ravens,
Human vampyres-sordid cravens,
Prcyed upon my soul and substance till
writhed in anguish sore;
Life and l seemed then mismated,
For lt t accursed and fated,
Like a res less, wrathful spirit, wandering
on the Stygian shore
Tortured by nameless yearning,
Like a frost fire, reezing-burning,
Did the purple, pulsing lite-tide through
Its tevered channels pour,
Till the golden bowl-Lite's token
Into shining shreds was broken,
And my chained and chafing spirit leapt
from out its prison door.
But while living, striving, dying,
Never did my soul cease crying
''Ye who guide the fates and furies, give
oh give NE, implore,
From the myriad hosts of nations
From the countless considerations,
One pure spirit that can love me-one
that l, too, can adore p
Through this ferVent aspiration
Found my fainting soul salvation,
For, from out its blackened fire crypts,
did my quickened spirit soar;
And my beautiful ideal
And too sanity to be real
Burst more brightly on my vision than
the iancy-formed LenOre.
'MIn The Surglng seas Sne Iound me-
With the pillows breaking round me,
And my saddened, sinking spirit, in her
arms of love upbore; N
Like lone one-reak 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 our souls foreyermore.
Earthly love and lust enslaved me,
But diVinest love hath saved me,
And l know now, first and only, how to
love and to adore.
Oh, my mortal friends and brothers,
We are each and all anOther's,
And the soul that gives most freely, from
its treasure 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
foreVermore.