The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1895-07-06

nope that springs eternal in the hu-
man breast" now rises to open the
gates of repentance. The angels of
grace, of mercy, of love. troop into
the room. They plead with the way
ward man to change his life, to leave
his cups, his sin, and to have a new
mind. Hear him tell the story:
Then methought the air grew denser.
Perfumed from an unseen censer,
Swung by Seraphim, whose footballs
Tinkled on the tufted floor"
Strengthened for the moment by
these good presences sent from hea-
ven to inspire him with new impulses
to right, he now tries to drive away
the bitter, black memory; to exercise
the demon from his presence. He
says to himself, rather than to the
raven:
wretch! cried thy God hath lent thee
BY these angels He hath sent thee
Respite-respite and nepenthe
From thy memories of Lenore!
guam, oh, quaff, this kind nepentbe.
And forget this lost Lenore,"
Quoth the raven, 'Nevermorep"
No, even though repentance come,
memory will not be quiet. Still on
the mind it broods, over all art it's
fateful presence dwells, as it utters
"Nevermore."
The poet is now in frantic agony
OF soul. He beseeches this inexorable
incarnation that denies nepenthe, to
send ease and healing:
" Prophet, said l. thing of evil!
Prophet still. if bird or devil!
whether tempter-sent. or whether tempest
tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted,
On this desert land enchanted
On this home by horror haunted
Tell me truly, implore.
Is there-ss ulese balssl In Cue aa ~ }e N63
Tell me-tel me. 1 implore!'-
Quoth the raven. 'Nevermore!'n
Memory alone, to the repentant
soul, has neither nepenthe nor balm,
but only an eye that burns, beak
that eats into the bosom's core, and a
croak of hopeless despair. 1t cannot
promise for the future.
Memory will not die, nor the raven
fly into oblivion either at our cajoling
or our command. The answer is still
the same-"Nevermore!'
After consummate skill, almost like
that of angels dissecting the struct-
ure of soul, with art as with two
edged scalpel that divides between
the mortal and the immortal, the poet
concludes this de profundis wall of
bitter experience, this Cain cry of re-
morse, this transcendent vision of
memory, thus truthfully, in words
whose cadence is as the midnight
moaning of winds in graveyard:
And the raven, never fitting,
Still is sitting still is sitting
On the pallid bust of PalIas,
Just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming
OF a demons that is dreaming
And the lamplight DER him streaming
Throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow
That lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted-nevermore!"
No, never out of that shadow was
Poe's soul lifted while on earth. Sin,
suffering, waywardness, and sorrow.
marked his mortal career-a life with
out hope. Genius, intellect, superb
and matchless literary art, availed
not to save him from the hereditary
taint Of infirmity, from the dangers
and penalties of highly sensitive
nervous organization, which, without
the sternest convictions of right and
duty, is curse; from boon compan-
ions who led him, ah, too swiftly, to
an untimely grave. And so this Amer
ican Prometheus, who, in the empy-
rean flight of his daring genius, stole
the very fire of Heaven, lived chained
to the rock of habit with the memoir
les, like vulture beaks, gnawing his
vitals. He died with these words
upon his lips: "Oh, God, is there no
ransom for the deathless spirit!"
Rossetti tells us that in his early
youth he loved and studied Poe, and
that "The Raven" directly inspired
his own lovely creation, THE Blessed
Damozel." Against Poe's tragedy of
Lost Soul stands the night-cc nquer-
ing beacon of Whittier's Christ
hope:
every chain that spirits wear,
Crun bles in the breath Of prayer;
And the penitents desire opens,
Opens every gate Of fire.
"Stm Thy love. o Christ arisen,
Yearns to reach these souls in prison;
Through all depths of sin and loss
Drops the plummet of Thy cross;
Never Yet abyss was found
Deeper than that cross could sound.
deep below as high above.
sweeps the circle Of Gods love-"