Year: 1877

Inc IOllOWlpg DeauGlIul pDStnumOuS
poem from the gifted pen of the erratic
poet, Edgar Allan Poe, we believe has
never before been published in any form,
either in any published collection Of Poe's
poems now extant or in amy magazine or
newspaper of any descriptlo On, and until
the critics shall show conclusively to the
contrary the Dispatch shall claim the honor
of giving it to the world.


That the poem has never before been
published and that it is genuine produc-
tion of the poet who we claim to he its
author we are satisfied from the circum-
stances under which it came into our
possession after thorough investigation.
Calling at the house of a gentleman of this
city the other day, on a business errand,
our attention was called to poem written
on the blank fy-leaf of an old book. Hand
ing us the book he observed that it (the
poem) might be good enough to publish,
and that if we thought so, to take it along.
Noticing the initials, E. A. P, at the bot
tom of the poem, it struck us that possibly
we had run across "bonanza," so to
speak, and after reading it we asked who
it's author was, when he related the follow
ing bit of interesting "Reminiscences. He
said he did not know who the author was,
only that he was young man, that is, he
was young man when he wrote the lines
referred to. He had never seen him him
self, but heard his grandfather, who gave
him the book containing the verses, tell of |
the circumstance and the occasion by which
he, the grandfather, came into possession
of the book. His grandparents kept IL
country hotel, a sort of wayside inn, in a
small village called Chesterfield, near
Richmond, Va. One night, just before
bedtime, a young man, who showed plainly
the marks of dissipation, raped at the
door and asked if be could stay all nigat,
and was shown to room. That was the
last they saw of him. When they went to
his room the next morning to call him to
breakfast he had gone away and left the
book, ON the fly-leaf of which he had writ
ten the lines given below.


Further than this our informant knew
nothing, and being an uneducated, litter
ate man, it was quite natural that he should
allow the great literary treasure to 60 for
80 many years unpublished.


That the above statement is true and
our diicovery no canard, we will take
pleasure in satisfying any who cares to in
vestigate the matter. The poem is written
n Roman characters and is almost as legi-
bio as print itself, although somewhat
faded by the lapse of time. Another
in the manuscript which we
notice is that it contains not the least sign
If erasure or a single interlneated word.
We give the poem verbatim, just as it
appears in the original. Here it is
LEoNAIEIE. aa
LeonaLie- angels named her,


And they took the light


OF the laughing stars and framed her a#


In smile Of white; .a /,
And they made her hair of gloomy |


Midnight and her eyes of bloomy
Moonshne, and they brought her to me


In solemn night.
In a solemn night of summer,


When my heart of gloom a.
Blossomed up to greet the conner


Like rose In bloom; ~
All forebodings that distressed me


forgot as joy caressed me-


dying joy that caught and pressed me


In the arms of doom y


Only spake the little lisper


In the angel tongue; H


Yet l, listening. heard her whisper


..songs are only sung s


,,ss;s Here below that they may grieve YOU


Tales are told you to deceive you


So must Leonanie leave you


While her love lie young" s4t9
Then God smiled and it was morning,
Matchless and supreme; @5 e
Heavens glory seemed adorning J


Earth with its esteem; l= ~


Every heart but mine seemed gifted


With the voice of prayer, and lifted |
Rassis Where my Lconanie drifted III


From me like dream. fsRE i. a. r. :