∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Poe's first published book begins with the earlier of his two long narrative poems. Its Byronic inspiration was admitted when, on May 29, 1829, he wrote to John Allan, “I have long given up Byron as a model.” “Tamerlane” is not a great poem, but there are flashes of true fire, even in the unpolished but never greatly improved first version. A fair critic must consider that, if Pope and Chatterton had done better before they were nineteen, Byron, Shelley, and even Keats had not.
R. H. Stoddard remarked in his “Life of Edgar Allan Poe”(1) that Poe's attention may have been called to Tamerlane by a passage in Byron's The Deformed Transformed (1824), I, i, 313ff:
I ask not
For valour, since deformity is daring.
It is its essence to o’ertake mankind
By heart and soul, and make itself the equal —
Ay, the superior of the rest. There is
A spur in its halt movements, to become
All that the others cannot, in such things [page 23:]
As still are free to both, to compensate
For stepdame Nature's avarice at first.
They woo with fearless deeds the smiles of fortune,
And oft, like Timour the lame Tartar, win them.
The Tamerlane of history (1336-1405) was called in Turkish Timur Beg and in Persian Timur-i-Leng “Timur the Lame.” In youth he was highly educated and of a gentle nature, but he turned warrior. He was never a shepherd or a brigand. He did conquer the Turkish sultan Bajazet (or Bayazet) in a battle near Angora (modern Ankara) about 1402, suppressed numerous rebels, and beautified his capital, Samarkand, like Poe's hero; and although he came of a distinguished family, his detractors spread stories of his low birth. He had a royal horoscope and married Tumaan, daughter of the Emir Musa, through whose influence he obtained the government of Casch, near his birthplace, a day's journey from Samarkand. He also married two Chinese princesses (unnamed in histories), but made no wife his queen. Tamerlane was publicly an orthodox Mahometan, but rumors of his interest in Christianity occur. (See The Encyclopedia of Islam and Herbelot's Bibliothèque Orientale.) Tamerlane's “low birth” is discussed by Sir Thomas Browne, Vulgar Errors, VII, xvi, 5. He believed Tamerlane was supposed to have been a simple shepherd because his ancestors called themselves Shepherd Kings.
SOURCES
Poe's choice of Tamerlane as a romantic hero may seem strange to modern readers familiar with Marlowe's Tamburlaine. But a century ago Marlowe's play was never performed and rarely read. Poe showed no acquaintance with it. Traditions about the Oriental conqueror are of very different kinds, and the more pleasant stories were gathered up by the biographer Ali Yazdi, called Sharifu’d Din, under the patronage of Tamerlane's grandson, Ibrahim Soltan. Upon these, Nicholas Rowe wrote a drama Poe must have known about.
Rowe's play Tamerlane (1702) long held the stage in England, being acted annually until 1815 on November 5, the anniversary [page 24:] of the landing of William III. In this play Bajazet represents Louis XIV, and Tamerlane, a kindly and tolerant ruler who conquers enemies only when provoked by their bad faith, is meant for William III. He has no queen, for Dutch William became a widower in 1694. Rowe's hero is reproached by fanatical enemies for his kindness to Christians. Thus even Poe's friar is not too inappropriate a friend for Tamerlane as the hero was usually thought of in 1827.
There are other plays about Tamerlane, one by Charles Saunders (1681) and one by Matthew Gregory (“Monk”) Lewis (1811). The latter, a horse-spectacle, was presented in Richmond on July 12, 1822, and repeated on July 17 and October 25. Poe may well have seen it and surely must have heard about it as Martin Shockley suggests in PMLA (December 1941).
PLOT
Poe took little from historic and dramatic sources; his poem is largely a personal allegory, based on his unhappy love for his Richmond sweetheart, Sarah Elmira Royster. Engaged, at least privately, to Miss Royster, Poe went off to the University of Virginia — poetically “to conquer the world.” Elmira's father intercepted their letters, and Poe “came home” to find the lady affianced to Alexander Shelton — poetically “dead” to Poe.
HISTORY OF THE TEXT
The textual history of “Tamerlane” is complicated. The author completely reworked his poem three times after its first publication, and on other occasions made minor changes. The four major forms are given in full below.
The first form of the poem (A) consists of 406 lines. It is badly printed, and requires at least fourteen emendations, most of which have been made by my predecessors. Since my reprint of the original volume, issued in 1941, is easily available, it suffices to list them here: (25) hated / hatred; (66) crush / crash; (74) steep / sleep; (109) [was] added; (119) interrogation mark added; (152) Dwelt / Dwell; (184) comma deleted after aching; (190) [page 25:] were / wore; (244) comma added; (350) too / to; (Note 5) think / thnik; (361) long-abandon’d / long-abandon’d; (371) list / lisp; (373) numeral for note added.
I have also substituted parentheses for square brackets after line 189. These are obviously vagaries of the printer who had run out of parentheses. A few commas are indistinguishable from periods in the facsimile, but in such cases the two originals in the Berg Collection confirm my readings. Poe's notes, on pages 37-40 at the end of the original volume, are here given as footnotes.
The second form of “Tamerlane,” presumably written in 1828, is now incompletely preserved in the holograph manuscript (B) given to Lambert A. Wilmer, and still in the possession of his family when the verbal variants were listed in the Stedman and Woodberry edition of Poe's Works, X (1895), 201-211. The manuscript later entered the Wakeman Collection and was purchased by J. P. Morgan. It is now first published here by permission of the Trustees of the Pierpont Morgan Library. Since it is the first publication, I give what amounts to a type facsimile — preserving punctuation and spelling (even ampersands) exactly. Several words, clearly not part of the text, are scribbled on the pages; but I have concluded these are mere trials of the pen, and do not record them. The two surviving fragments comprise 157 lines. The numeration of the lines is based on the version of 1827 (A) . It can be seen that Poe had already dropped lines 182-188 and 256-326. He had thoroughly reworked 150-153, 221-223, 245-246 250-256, 334-338. Minor changes were made in lines 68, 90-91, 98, 145, 154, 164, 173, 176, 189-190, 193-194, 219, 244, 247, 330, 332, 339, 342-343, and 346.
Late in 1829 Poe shortened the poem to 243 lines for publication in his volume Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems (C). This was to be practically its final form, for in 1845 it was set up from a copy of the 1829 volume with slight corrections (G), none verbal. Only two lines (40 and 57) were changed in proof for The Raven and Other Poems (H).
There are slight changes in extracts printed in the Yankee for December 1829 (E); and one (in line 187) in a presentation [page 26:] copy of the 1829 volume sent John Neal (D) which was discovered in 1966. Most of them are abortive.
In 1831 there was another revision for the Poems (F). This time the poem was expanded by the incorporation of “The Lake” and “To — —” beginning “Should my early life seem ...” All these changes save two (in lines 40 and 57) were abandoned in 1845. See also lines 73-75, 77, 81-82, 86, 106, 110, 112, 119-120, 128-138, 151-152, 164-176, 181, 194, 202, 207-221, 235, and 243. The comma in line 81 is demanded by sense, and I emend the period of the original, and add an apostrophe in line 238.
In 1850 Griswold (J) followed the 1845 volume (H) closely.
TEXTS
(A) Tamerlane and Other Poems (Boston, 1827), pp. 5-21, notes, pp. 37-40; (B) Wilmer manuscript (fragments), 1828, now in the Pierpont Morgan Library; (C) Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems (Baltimore, 1829), pp. 43-54; (D) John Neal's presentation copy of Al Aaraaf ... , with manuscript change in line 187; (E) The Yankee and Boston Literary Gazette, December 1829 (1:297-298), extracts; (F) Poems (New York, 1831), pp. 111-124; (G) Elizabeth Herring's copy of Al Aaraaf ... with manuscript changes, 1845; (H) The Raven and Other Poems (New York, 1845), pp. 74-82; (J) Works (New York, 1850), II, 96-104.
I.
I have sent for thee, holy friar; (1)
But ’twas not with the drunken hope,
To shun the fate, with which to cope
5
Is more than crime may dare to dream, [page 27:]
That I have call’d thee at this hour:
Nor am I mad, to deem that power
Of earth may shrive me of the sin
10
Unearthly pride hath revell’d in —
I would not call thee fool, old man,
But hope is not a gift of thine;
It falls from an eternal shrine.
II.
[[n]]
15
The gay wall of this gaudy tower
Grows dim around me — death is near.
I had not thought, until this hour
When passing from the earth, that ear
20
All mystery but a simple name,
Might know the secret of a spirit
Bow’d down in sorrow, and in shame. —
25
[[v]]
That hated portion, with the fame,
The worldly glory, which has shown
A demon-light around my throne,
Scorching my sear’d heart with a pain
Not Hell shall make me fear again.
III.
30
I have not always been as now —
I claim’d and won usurpingly —
Aye — the same heritage hath giv’n
Rome to the Caesar — this to me;
35
The heirdom of a kingly mind —
And a proud spirit, which hath striv’n [page 28:]
In mountain air I first drew life;
[[n]]
The mists of the Taglay have shed (2)
40
Nightly their dews on my young head;
And my brain drank their venom then,
When after day of perilous strife
[[n]]
With chamois, I would seize his den
[[n]]
And slumber, in my pride of power,
45
The infant monarch of the hour —
For, with the mountain dew by night,
My soul imbib’d unhallow’d feeling;
And I would feel its essence stealing
In dreams upon me — while the light
50
Flashing from cloud that hover’d o’er,
Would seem to my half closing eye
And the deep thunder's echoing roar
Came hurriedly upon me, telling
55
Of war, and tumult, where my voice
My own voice, silly child! was swelling
(O how would my wild heart rejoice
And leap within me at the cry)
* * * * *
IV.
60
The rain came down upon my head
But barely shelter’d — and the wind
Pass’d quickly o’er me — but my mind
Was mad’ning — for ’twas man that shed
Laurels upon me — and the rush,
65
[[v]]
Gurgled in my pleas’d ear the crush
Of empires, with the captive's prayer, [page 29:]
The hum of suitors, the mix’d tone
Of flatt’ry round a sov’reign's throne.
70
The storm had ceas’d — and I awoke —
Its spirit cradled me to sleep,
And as it pass’d me by, there broke
Strange light upon me, tho’ it were
[[v]]
75
The child of Nature, without care,
Or thought, save of the passing scene. —
V.
My passions, from that hapless hour,
80
Have deem’d, since I have reach’d to power
But, father, there liv’d one who, then —
Then, in my boyhood, when their fire
Burn’d with a still intenser glow;
85
(For passion must with youth expire)
Ev’n then, who deem’d this iron heart
In woman's weakness had a part.
I have no words, alas! to tell
90
Nor would I dare attempt to trace
The breathing beauty of a face,
Which ev’n to my impassion’d mind,
In spring of life have ye ne’er dwelt
95
With steadfast eye, till ye have felt
The earth reel — and the vision gone?
And I have held to mem’ry's eye
One object — and but one — until [page 30:]
100
Its very form hath pass’d me by,
But left its influence with me still.
VI.
’Tis not to thee that I should name —
Thou can'st not — would'st not dare to think
105
Which ev’n upon this perilous brink
Hath fix’d my soul, tho’ unforgiv’n
By what it lost for passion — Heav’n.
I lov’d — and O, how tenderly!
[[v]]
Yes! she [was] worthy of all love!
110
Tho’ then its passion could not be:
’Twas such as angel minds above
Might envy — her young heart the shrine
On which my ev’ry hope and thought
115
Were incense — then a goodly gift —
For they were childish, without sin,
Pure as her young examples taught;
Why did I leave it and adrift,
[[v]]
Trust to the fickle star within?
VII.
120
We grew in age, and love together,
Roaming the forest and the wild;
My breast her shield in wintry weather,
And when the friendly sunshine smil’d
And she would mark the op’ning skies,
125
I saw no Heav’n, but in her eyes —
Ev’n childhood knows the human heart;
For when, in sunshine and in smiles,
From all our little cares apart,
Laughing at her half silly wiles,
130
I’d throw me on her throbbing breast,
And pour my spirit out in tears, [page 31:]
She’d look up in my wilder’d eye —
There was no need to speak the rest —
No need to quiet her kind fears —
135
She did not ask the reason why.
The hallow’d mem’ry of those years
Comes o’er me in these lonely hours,
And, with sweet lovliness, appears
As perfume of strange summer flow’rs;
140
Of flow’rs which we have known before
In infancy, which seen, recall
To mind — not flow’rs alone — but more
Our earthly life, and love — and all.
VIII.
Yes! she was worthy of all love!
145
Ev’n such as from th’ accursed time
My spirit with the tempest strove,
When on the mountain peak alone,
And bade it first to dream of crime,
150
My phrenzy to her bosom taught:
We still were young: no purer thought
[[v]]
Dwelt in a seraph's breast than thine; (3)
For passionate love is still divine:
155
With ray of the all living light
Which blazes upon Edis’ shrine. (4)
With such as mine — that mystic flame,
160
The world with all its train of bright [page 32:]
The world — its joy — its share of pain
Which I felt not — its bodied forms
165
Of varied being, which contain
The bodiless spirits of the storms,
The sunshine, and the calm — the ideal
And fleeting vanities of dreams,
170
Nothings of mid-day waking life —
Of an enchanted life, which seems,
Now as I look back, the strife
Of some ill demon, with a power
Which left me in an evil hour,
175
All that I felt, or saw, or thought,
(With thine unearthly beauty fraught)
[[n]]
Thou — and the nothing of a name.
IX.
The passionate spirit which hath known,
180
And deeply felt the silent tone
’Twere folly now to veil a thought
[[v]]
With which this aching breast is fraught)
185
The soul which feels its innate right —
The mystic empire and high power
Which knows (believe me at this time,
190
[[v]]
When falsehood were a ten-fold crime,
There is a power in the high spirit
To know the fate it will inherit)
The soul, which knows such power, will still
Find Pride the ruler of its will. [page 33:]
195
Yes! I was proud — and ye who know
The magic of that meaning word,
Your scorn, perhaps, when ye have heard
That the proud spirit had been broken,
200
The proud heart burst in agony
At one upbraiding word or token
Of her that heart's idolatry —
I was ambitious — have ye known
Its fiery passion? — ye have not —
205
Of half the world, as all my own,
And murmur’d at such lowly lot!
But it had pass’d me as a dream
Which, of light step, flies with the dew,
210
That kindling thought — did not the beam
Of Beauty, which did guide it through
The livelong summer day, oppress
My mind with double loveliness —
* * * * *
X
We walk’d together on the crown
215
Of a high mountain, which look’d down
Afar from its proud natural towers
Of rock and forest, on the hills —
The dwindled hills, whence amid bowers
Her own fair hand had rear’d around,
220
Gush’d shoutingly a thousand rills,
Which as it were, in fairy bound
Embrac’d two hamlets — those our own —
Peacefully happy — yet alone —
* * * * *
I spoke to her of power and pride —
225
But mystically, in such guise, [page 34:]
That she might deem it naught beside
The moment's converse, in her eyes
I read (perhaps too carelessly)
A mingled feeling with my own;
230
The flush on her bright cheek, to me,
Seem’d to become a queenly throne
Too well, that I should let it be
A light in the dark wild, alone.
XI.
There — in that hour — a thought came o’er
235
My mind, it had not known before —
To leave her while we both were young, —
The strife of nations, and redeem
The idle words, which, as a dream
240
Now sounded to her heedless ear —
I held no doubt — I knew no fear
To gain an empire, and throw down
[[v]]
As nuptial dowry — a queen's crown,
245
The only feeling which possest,
With her own image, my fond breast —
Who, that had known the secret thought
Of a young peasant's bosom then,
Had deem’d him, in compassion, aught
250
But one, whom phantasy had led
Astray from reason — Among men
Ambition is chain’d down — nor fed
(As in the desert, where the grand,
The wild, the beautiful, conspire
255
With their own breath to fan its fire)
With thoughts such feeling can command;
Uncheck’d by sarcasm, and scorn
Of those, who hardly will conceive
That any should become “great,” born (5) [page 35:]
260
In their own sphere — will not believe
That they shall stoop in life to one
Whom daily they are wont to see
Familiarly — whom Fortune's sun
Hath ne’er shone dazzlingly upon
265
Lowly — and of their own degree —
XII.
Her silent, deep astonishment,
When, a few fleeting years gone by,
(For short the time my high hope lent
270
To its most desperate intent,)
She might recall in him, whom Fame
Had gilded with a conquerer's name,
(With glory — such as might inspire
Perforce, a passing thought of one,
[[n]]
275
Whom she had deem’d in his own fire
Wither’d and blasted; who had gone
A traitor, violate of the truth
So plighted in his early youth,)
[[n]]
Her own Alexis, who should plight (6)
280
The love he plighted then — again,
And raise his infancy's delight,
The bride and queen of Tamerlane —
XIII.
One noon of a bright summer's day
I pass’d from out the matted bow’r [page 36:]
285
Where in a deep, still slumber lay
[[n]]
My Ada. In that peaceful hour,
A silent gaze was my farewell.
T’ awake her, and a falsehood tell
290
Of a feign’d journey, were again
To trust the weakness of my heart
To her soft thrilling voice: To part
Thus, haply, while in sleep she dream’d
Of long delight, nor yet had deem’d
295
Awake, that I had held a thought
Of parting, were with madness fraught;
I knew not woman's heart, alas!
Tho’ lov’d, and loving — let it pass. —
XIV.
I went from out the matted bow’r,
300
And felt, with ev’ry flying hour,
That bore me from my home, more gay;
305
’Tis bliss, in its own reality,
Too real, to his breast who lives
310
To God, and to the great whole —
[[n]]
To him, whose loving spirit will dwell
With Nature, in her wild paths; tell
Of her wond’rous ways, and telling bless
315
Whose failing sight will grow dim
That loveliness around: the sun — [page 37:]
The blue sky — the misty light
320
Of the pale cloud therein, whose hue
Is grace to its heav’nly bed of blue;
Dim! tho’ looking on all bright!
O God! when the thoughts that may not pass
Will burst upon him, and alas!
325
For the flight on Earth to Fancy giv’n,
There are no words — unless of Heav’n.
XV.
* * * * *
Look ’round thee now on Samarcand, (7)
Is she not queen of earth? her pride
330
Their destinies? with all beside
Of glory, which the world hath known?
Stands she not proudly and alone?
And who her sov’reign? Timur he (8)
Whom th’ astonish’d earth hath seen,
335
Redoubling age! and more, I ween,
[[n]]
The Zinghis’ yet re-echoing fame (9)
And now what has he? what! a name.
[[n]]
340
Comes o’er me, with the mingled voice
Of many with a breast as light,
As if ’twere not the dying hour
Of one, in whom they did rejoice —
345
Nothing have I with human hearts. [page 38:]
XVI.
[[n]]
When Fortune mark’d me for her own,
And my proud hopes had reach’d a throne
(It boots me not, good friar, to tell
350
[[v]]
A tale the world but knows too well,
How by what hidden deeds of might,
I clamber’d to the tottering height,)
I still was young; and well I ween
My spirit what it e’er had been.
[[n]]
355
My eyes were still on pomp and power,
My wilder’d heart was far away,
In vallies of the wild Taglay,
In mine own Ada's matted bow’r.
360
Ere, in a peasant's lowly guise,
[[v]]
I sought my long-abandon’d land,
By sunset did its mountains rise
365
My heart sunk with the sun's ray.
To him, who still would gaze upon
There comes, when that sun will from him part,
A sullen hopelessness of heart.
370
That soul will hate the ev’ning mist
[[v]]
So often lovely, and will list
To the sound of the coming darkness (known
[[v]]
To those whose spirits hark’n) (10) as one
Who in a dream of night would fly
375
But cannot from a danger nigh.
What though the moon — the silvery moon
Shine on his path, in her high noon;
Her smile is chilly, and her beam [page 39:]
In that time of dreariness will seem
380
As the portrait of one after death;
A likeness taken when the breath
Of young life, and the fire o’ the eye
Had lately been but had pass’d by.
’Tis thus when the lovely summer sun
385
Of our boyhood, his course hath run:
For all we live to know — is known;
And all we seek to keep — hath flown;
With the noon-day beauty, which is all.
Let life, then, as the day-flow’r, fall —
390
The trancient, passionate day-flow’r, (11)
Withering at the ev’ning hour.
XVII.
I reach’d my home — my home no more —
For all was flown that made it so —
I pass’d from out its mossy door,
395
There met me on its threshold stone
A mountain hunter, I had known
In childhood but he knew me not.
Something he spoke of the old cot:
400
It had seen better days, he said;
There rose a fountain once, and there
[[n]]
Full many a fair flow’r raised its head:
But she who rear’d them was long dead,
And in such follies had no part,
405
What was there left me now? despair —
[1827]
[5]
65
Gurgled in my pleas’d ear the crush
Of empires, with the captive's prayer
Of flatt’ry ’round a sov’reign's throne.
6
70
The storm had ceas’d & I awoke —
Its spirit cradled me to sleep,
And as it pass’d me by there broke
Strange light upon me, tho’ it were
75
The child of Nature, without care,
Or thought save of the passing scene.
7
My passions, from that hapless hour
80
Have deem’d since I have reach’d to power
But, father, there liv’d one who then,
Then, in my boyhood, when their fire
Burn’d with a still intenser glow
85
(For passion must with youth expire)
Ev’n then who deem’d this iron heart
In woman's weakness had a part.
8
I have no words, alas! to tell
The loveliness of loving well!
90
Nor would I now attempt to trace
The more than beauty of a face [page 41:]
Which, ev’n to this impassion’d mind,
In spring of life have ye ne’er dwelt
95
With steadfast eye, till ye had felt
The earth reel, & the vision gone?
So have I held to Memory's eye
One object, and but one, until [.... .]
11
Yes! she was worthy of all love —
145
Such as I taught her from the time
My spirit with the tempest strove
When, on the mountain peak alone,
And bade it first to dream of crime.
150
There were no holier thoughts than thine.
I lov’d thee as an angel might,
155
With ray of the all-living light
Which blazes upon Edis’ shrine —
With such as mine that mystic flame.
160
The world, with all its train of bright
All was an undefin’d delight.)
The world — its joy — its share of pain
Unheeded then — its bodied forms
165
The bodiless spirits of the storms,
The sunshine, & the calm — th’ ideal
And fleeting vanities of dreams
Fearfully beautiful — the real
170
Nothings of mid-day waking life —
Of an enchanted life, which seems,
Now as I look back, the strife [page 42:]
Which left me in an evil hour —
175
All that I felt, or saw, or thought,
(With thine unearthly beauty fraught —)
Thou — & the nothing of a name.
12
The passionate spirit which hath known
180
And deeply felt the silent tone
189
Which knows (believe! for now on me
190
There is a power in the high spirit
To know the fate it will inherit)
The soul which feels such power will still
Find Pride the ruler of its will.
13
195
Yes! I was proud & ye who know
The magic of that meaning word
Your scorn perhaps when ye have heard
That the proud spirit had been broken,
200
The proud heart burst in agony
At one upbraiding word or token
Of her, that heart's idolatry!
I was ambitious — have ye known
The fiery passion? ye have not —
205
Of half the world as all my own
And murmur’d at such lowly lot;
But it had pass’d me as a dream
Which, of light step, flies with the dew
210
(That kindling thought) — did not the beam
Of Beauty, which did guide it thro’ [page 43:]
The live-long summer day, oppress
My mind with double loveliness!
14
We walk’d together on the crown
215
Of a high mountain which look’d down
Afar from its proud natural towers
Of rock & forest on the hills;
The dwindled hills, whence, amid bowers
Her magic hand had rear’d around
220
Gush’d shoutingly a thousand rills,
Encircling with a glitt’ring bound
Of diamond sunshine & sweet spray
15
I spoke to her of power & pride,
225
But mystically, in such guise,
That she might deem it nought beside
The moment's converse: in her eyes
I read, perhaps too carelessly,
A mingled feeling with my own —
230
The flush on her bright cheek to me
Seem’d to become a queenly throne
Too well that I should let it be
A light in the dark wild alone.
16
There, in that hour, a thought came o’er
235
My mind it had not known before —
To leave her while we both were young:
The strife of nations, & redeem
The idle words which, as a dream,
240
Now sounded to her heedless ear —
I held no doubt, I knew no fear [page 44:]
To gain an empire & throw down
As nuptial dowry a queen's crown
245
The undying hope which now oppress’d
17
Who that had known the silent thought
Of a young peasant's bosom then
Had deem’d him, in compassion, aught
250
But one whom Phantasy had thrown
Lion Ambition is chain’d down,
And crouches to a keeper's hand —
Not so in deserts where the grand
The wild, the terrible conspire
255
With their own breath to fan his fire.
18
327
Look ’round thee now on Samarcand!
Is she not queen of earth? her pride
330
Their destinies? in all beside
Of glory which the world hath known
And who her sov’reign? Timur — he
Whom the astonish’d people saw
335
Striding o’er empires haughtily
More than the Zinghis in his fame —
And now what has he? even a name.
19
340
Comes o’er me, with the mingled voice
Of many with a breast as light [page 45:]
As if ’twere not their parting hour
From one in whom they did rejoice —
345
And I have naught with human hearts. [....]
[1827-1828]
I.
Such, father, is not (now) my theme:
I will not madly think that power
Of earth may shrive me of the sin
5
Unearthly pride hath revell’d in —
I have no time to dote or dream:
You call it hope — that fire of fire!
10
Its fount is holier — more divine —
I would not call thee fool, old man,
But such is not a gift of thine.
II.
Hear thou the secret of a spirit
Bow’d from its wild pride into shame.
15
O yearning heart! (I did inherit
Thy withering portion with the fame,
The searing glory which hath shone
20
Not Hell shall make me fear again)
O craving heart for the lost flowers
And sunshine of my summer hours!
The undying voice of that dead time, [page 46:]
25
Rings in the spirit of a spell,
Upon thy emptiness, — a knell.
Despair, the fabled vampire-bat,
[[n]]
And I would rave, but that he flings
30
A calm from his unearthly wings.
III.
I have not always been as now:
The fever’d diadem on my brow,
Hath not the same heirdom given
35
Rome to the Cæsar — this to me?
And a proud spirit which path striven
IV.
On mountain soil I first drew life —
40
The mists of the Taglay have shed
Nightly their dews upon my head,
And I believe the winged strife
And tumult of the headlong air
V.
45
So late from Heaven — that dew — it fell
(Mid dreams of an unholy night)
Upon me with the touch of Hell,
While the red flashing of the light
From clouds that hung, like banners, o’er,
50
Appear’d to my half-closing eye
And the deep trumpet thunder's roar
Came hurriedly upon me, telling [page 47:]
Of human battle, where my voice,
55
My own voice, silly child, was swelling
(O how my spirit would rejoice
And leap within me at the cry!)
VI.
The rain came down upon my head,
60
Unshelter’d, and the heavy wind
Was giant-like — so thou, my mind!
It was but man, I thought, who shed
Laurels upon me — and the rush,
The torrent of the chilly air,
65
Gurgled within my ear the crush
Of empires, with the captive's prayer,
The hum of suitors, and the tone
Of flattery, round a sovereign's throne.
VII.
My passions from that hapless hour
70
Have deem’d, since I have reach’d to power,
But, father, there liv’d one who then —
Then in my boyhood when their fire
75
Burn’d with a still intenser glow,
(For passion must with youth expire)
Ev’n then who knew that as infinite
My soul — so was the weakness in it.
VIII.
[[n]]
For in those days it was my lot
80
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less,
Of a wild lake with black rock bound, [page 48:]
[[n]]
And the sultan-like pines that tower’d around!
85
But when the night had thrown her pall
And the black wind murmur’d by,
90
To the terror of that lone lake.
Yet that terror was not fright —
A feeling not the jewell’d mine
Could ever bribe me to define,
95
Nor love, Ada! tho’ it were thine.
How could I from that water bring
IX.
100
But then a gentler, calmer spell,
Like moonlight on my spirit fell,
And O! I have no words to tell
The loveliness of loving well!
I will not now attempt to trace
105
The more than beauty of a face
Are shadows on the unstable wind.
110
With loitering eye till I have felt
The letters with their meaning melt
X.
Was she not worthy of all love?
115
’Twas such as angel minds above [page 49:]
Might envy — her young heart the shrine
On which my ev’ry hope and thought
Were incense — then a goodly gift —
For they were childish and upright —
120
Pure — as her young example taught:
Trust to the fire within for light?
XI.
We grew in age and love together,
Roaming the forest and the wild,
125
My breast her shield in wintry weather,
And when the friendly sunshine smil’d,
And she would mark the opening skies,
I saw no Heaven but in her eyes.
XII.
Young Love's first lesson is — the heart:
130
For mid that sunshine and those smiles,
When from our little cares apart,
And laughing at her girlish wiles,
I’d lean upon her gentle breast,
And pour my spirit out in tears,
135
There was no need to speak the rest,
Of hers — who ask’d no reason why,
But turn’d on me her quiet eye.
XIII.
140
The world and all it did contain,
In the earth — the air — the sea,
Dim vanities of dreams by night,
145
And dimmer nothings which were real, [page 50:]
(Shadows and a more shadowy light)
Parted upon their misty wings,
Thine image and a name — a name!
150
Two separate yet most intimate things.
XIV.
We walk’d together on the crown
Of a high mountain which look’d down
Afar from its proud natural towers
Of rock and forest on the hills —
155
The dwindled hills! begirt with bowers
And shooting with a thousand rills.
XV.
I spoke to her of power and pride,
That she might deem it nought beside
160
The moments’ converse — in her eyes
I read — perhaps too carelessly —
A mingled feeling with my own —
The flush upon her cheek to me,
Seem’d fitted for a queenly throne,
165
Too well that I should let it be,
Light in the wilderness alone.
XVI.
I wrapp’d myself in grandeur then
And donn’d a visionary crown —
170
Had thrown her mantle over me,
But that among the rabble men,
Lion ambition is chain’d down,
And crouches to a keeper's hand,
Not so in deserts where the grand, [page 51:]
175
The wild, the terrible, conspire
With their own breath to fan its fire.
* * * * * *
XVII.
Say, holy father, breathes there yet
[[n]]
How now! why tremble, man of gloom,
180
As if my words were the Simoom!
Why do the people bow the knee,
To the young Tamerlane — to me!
XVIII.
O human love! thou spirit given
On earth of all we hope in Heaven!
185
Which fallest into the soul like rain
Upon the Syroc-wither’d plain,
And failing of thy power to bless,
But leavest the heart a wilderness!
Idea which bindest life around,
190
With music of so strange a sound,
And beauty of so wild a birth —
Farewell! for I have won the earth.
XIX.
When hope, the eagle that tower’d, could see
No cliff beyond him in the sky,
195
His pinions were bent droopingly,
And homeward turn’d his soften’d eye.
XX.
* * * * * *
’Twas sunset: when the sun will part,
There comes a sullenness of heart
To him who still would look upon [page 52:]
200
That soul will hate the evening mist,
So often lovely, and will list
To the sound of the coming darkness (known
To those whose spirits harken) as one
205
Who in a dream of night would fly,
But cannot from a danger nigh.
XXI.
What tho’ the moon — the white moon —
Shed all the beauty of her noon,
Her smile is chilly, and her beam
210
In that time of dreariness will seem
(So like you gather in your breath)
* * * * * *
XXII.
I reach’d my home — what home? above,
My home — my hope — my early love,
215
Lonely, like me, the desert rose,
Bow’d down with its own glory grows.
XXIV.
I know — for death, who comes for me
From regions of the blest afar,
220
Where there is nothing to deceive,
And rays of truth you cannot see,
225
Else how when in the holy grove,
I wander’d of the idol, Love, [page 53:]
Who daily scents his snowy wings
With incense of burnt offerings,
230
From the most undefiled things;
Whose pleasant bowers are yet so riven
Above with trelliced rays from Heaven,
No mote may shun — no tiniest fly
The lightning of his eagle eye —
235
How was it that Ambition crept,
Till growing bold, he laugh’d and leapt
In the tangles of Love's very hair?
XXIV.
[[n]]
240
Is it, therefore, the less gone?
245
250
[1827-1831?]
[[n]]
[[n]]
Such, father, is not (now) my theme —
I will not madly deem that power
Of Earth may shrive me of the sin [page 54:]
5
Unearthly pride hath revell’d in —
I have no time to dote or dream:
You call it hope — that fire of fire!
If I can hope — Oh God! I can —
10
Its fount is holier — more divine —
I would not call thee fool, old man,
But such is not a gift of thine.
Know thou the secret of a spirit
Bow’d from its wild pride into shame.
15
O yearning heart! I did inherit
[[n]]
Thy withering portion with the fame,
The searing glory which hath shone
20
Not Hell shall make me fear again —
O craving heart, for the lost flowers
And sunshine of my summer hours!
The undying voice of that dead time,
25
Rings, in the spirit of a spell
I have not always been as now:
[[v]]
I claim’d and won usurpingly —
[[n]]
30
Hath not the same fierce heirdom given
Rome to the Cæsar — this to me?
The heritage of a kingly mind,
And a proud spirit which hath striven
35
On mountain soil I first drew life:
The mists of the Taglay have shed
Nightly their dews upon my head, [page 55:]
And, I believe, the winged strife
And tumult of the headlong air
[[v]]
40
So late from Heaven — that dew — it fell
[[v]]
('mid dreams of an unholy night)
Upon me with the touch of Hell,
While the red flashing of the light
45
From clouds that hung, like banners, o’er,
[[v]]
Appeared to my half-closing eye
And the deep trumpet-thunder's roar
Came hurriedly upon me, telling
[[v]]
50
Of human battle, where my voice,
My own voice, silly child! — was swelling
(O! how my spirit would rejoice,
And leap within me at the cry)
55
The rain came down upon my head
Unshelter’d — and the heavy wind
[[v]]
Rendered me mad and deaf and blind.
It was but man, I thought, who shed
Laurels upon me: and the rush —
60
Gurgled within my ear the crush
Of empires — with the captive's prayer —
The hum of suitors — and the tone
[[v]]
Of flattery ’round a sovereign's throne.
65
My passions, from that hapless hour, [page 56:]
Have deem’d, since I have reach’d to power,
But, father, there liv’d one who, then,
70
Then — in my boyhood — when their fire
Burn’d with a still intenser glow
(For passion must, with youth, expire)
E’en then who knew this iron heart
In woman's weakness had a part.
75
I have no words — alas! — to tell
The loveliness of loving well!
Nor would I now attempt to trace
The more than beauty of a face
Whose lineaments, upon my mind,
80
Are — shadows on th’ unstable wind:
[[n]]
With loitering eye, till I have felt
The letters — with their meaning — melt
85
O, she was worthy of all love!
Love — as in infancy was mine —
[[n]]
’Twas such as angel minds above
Might envy; her young heart the shrine
90
On which my every hope and thought
Were incense — then a goodly gift,
For they were childish and upright —
Pure — as her young example taught:
Why did I leave it, and, adrift,
95
Trust to the fire within, for light?
We grew in age — and love — together —
Roaming the forest, and the wild;
My breast her shield in wintry weather —
And, when the friendly sunshine smil’d, [page 57:]
100
And she would mark the opening skies,
[[n]]
I saw no Heaven — but in her eyes.
[[n]]
Young Love's first lesson is —— the heart.
For 'mid that sunshine, and those smiles,
When, from our little cares apart,
105
And laughing at her girlish wiles,
I’d throw me on her throbbing breast,
And pour my spirit out in tears —
There was no need to speak the rest —
110
Of her — who ask’d no reason why,
[[v]]
But turn’d on me her quiet eye!
Yet more than worthy of the love
My spirit struggled with, and strove,
When, on the mountain peak, alone,
115
[[n]]
The world, and all it did contain
In the earth — the air — the sea —
Its joy — its little lot of pain
120
That was new pleasure — the ideal,
Dim, vanities of dreams by night —
[[n]]
And dimmer nothings which were real —
(Shadows — and a more shadowy light!)
Parted upon their misty wings,
125
Thine image and — a name — a name!
Two separate — yet most intimate things.
I was ambitious — have you known
The passion, father? You have not:
130
Of half the world as all my own, [page 58:]
And murmur’d at such lowly lot —
But, just like any other dream,
[[n]]
135
My own had past, did not the beam
Of beauty which did while it thro’
The minute — the hour — the day — oppress
My mind with double loveliness.
[[n]]
We walk’d together on the crown
140
Of a high mountain which look’d down
Afar from its proud natural towers
Of rock and forest, on the hills —
The dwindled hills! begirt with bowers
And shouting with a thousand rills.
145
I spoke to her of power and pride,
But mystically — in such guise
That she might deem it nought beside
The moment's converse; in her eyes
I read, perhaps too carelessly —
150
A mingled feeling with my own —
The flush on her bright cheek, to me
Seem’d to become a queenly throne
Too well that I should let it be
Light in the wilderness alone.
155
I wrapp’d myself in grandeur then
And donn’d a visionary crown —
Had thrown her mantle over me —
But that, among the rabble — men,
160
Lion ambition is chain’d down —
And crouches to a keeper's hand —
Not so in deserts where the grand —
The wild — the terrible conspire
With their own breath to fan his fire. [page 59:]
165
Look ’round thee now on Samarcand! —
Is she not queen of Earth? her pride
Their destinies? in all beside
Of glory which the world hath known
170
Stands she not nobly and alone?
Falling — her veriest stepping-stone
Shall form the pedestal of a throne —
And who her sovereign? Timour — he
Whom the astonished people saw
175
Striding o’er empires haughtily
O, human love! thou spirit given,
On Earth, of all we hope in Heaven!
Which fall'st into the soul like rain
[[n]]
180
Upon the Siroc-wither’d plain,
And, failing in thy power to bless,
But leav'st the heart a wilderness!
Idea! which bindest life around
With music of so strange a sound
185
And beauty of so wild a birth —
Farewell! for I have won the Earth.
[[v]]
When Hope, the eagle that tower’d, could see
No cliff beyond him in the sky,
His pinions were bent droopingly —
190
And homeward turn’d his soften’d eye.
[[n]]
’Twas sunset: when the sun will part
There comes a sullenness of heart
To him who still would look upon
195
That soul will hate the ev’ning mist
So often lovely, and will list
To the sound of the coming darkness (known [page 60:]
To those whose spirits harken) as one
[[n]]
Who, in a dream of night, would fly
200
But cannot from a danger nigh.
What tho’ the moon — the white moon
Shed all the splendor of her noon,
[[n]]
Her smile is chilly — and her beam,
In that time of dreariness, will seem
205
(So like you gather in your breath)
[[n]]
Whose waning is the dreariest one —
For all we live to know is known
210
And all we seek to keep hath flown —
Let life, then, as the day-flower, fall
[[n]]
With the noon-day beauty — which is all.
[[n]]
I reach’d my home — my home no more —
For all had flown who made it so.
215
I pass’d from out its mossy door,
And, tho’ my tread was soft and low,
A voice came from the threshold stone
Of one whom I had earlier known —
220
On beds of fire that burn below,
An humbler heart — a deeper wo.
I know — for Death who comes for me
From regions of the blest afar,
225
Where there is nothing to deceive,
And rays of truth you cannot see
Are flashing thro’ Eternity ——
[[n]]
230
Else how, when in the holy grove [page 61:]
Who daily scents his snowy wings
With incense of burnt offerings
[[v]]
235
From the most unpolluted things,
Whose pleasant bowers are yet so riven
[[v]]
Above with trellic’d rays from Heaven
No mote may shun — no tiniest fly —
The light’ning of his eagle eye —
240
How was it that Ambition crept,
Unseen, amid the revels there,
Till growing bold, he laughed and leapt
[[v]]
[[n]]
In the tangles of Love's very hair?
[1827-1828 / 45]
[The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 26:]
(1) Of the history of Tamerlane little is known; and with that little, I have taken the full liberty of a poet. — That he was descended from the family of Zinghis Khan is more than probable — but he is vulgarly supposed to have been the son of a shepherd, and to have raised himself to the throne by his own address. He died in the year 1405, in the time of Pope Innocent VII.
How I shall account for giving him “a friar,” as a death-bed confessor — I cannot exactly determine. He wanted some one to listen to his tale — and why not a friar? It does not pass the bounds of possibility — quite sufficient for my purposes — and I have at least good authority on my side for such innovations. [Poe's note]
[The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 28:]
(2) The mountains of Belur Taglay are a branch of the Immaus, in the southern part of Independent Tartary. They are celebrated for the singular wildness, and beauty of their vallies. [Poe's note] [[n]]
[The following footnotes appear at the bottom of page 31:]
(3) I must beg the reader's pardon for making Tamerlane, a Tartar of the fourteenth century, speak in the same language as a Boston gentleman of the nineteenth: but of the Tartar mythology we have little information. [Poe's note]
(4) A deity presiding over virtuous love, upon whose imaginary altar, a sacred fire was continually blazing. [Poe's note] [[n]]
[The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 34, running to the bottom of page 35:]
(5) Although Tamerlane speaks this, it is not the less true. It is a matter of the [page 35:] greatest difficulty to make the generality of mankind believe that one, with whom they are upon terms of intimacy, shall be called, in the world, a “great man.” The reason is evident. There are few great men. Their actions are consequently viewed by the mass of people thro’ the medium of distance. — The prominent parts of their character are alone noted; and those properties, which are minute and common to every one, not being observed, seem to have no connection with a great character. [[v]]
Who ever read the private memorials, correspondence, &c., which have become so common in our time, without wondering that “great men” should act and think “so abominably”? [Poe's note] [[n]]
[The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 35:]
(6) That Tamerlane acquir’d his renown under a feigned name is not entirely a fiction. [Poe's note]
[The following footnotes appear at the bottom of page 37:]
(7) I believe it was after the battle of Angoria that Tamerlane made Samarcand his residence. It became for a time the seat of learning and the arts. [Poe's note]
(8) He was called Timur Bek as well as Tamerlane. [Poe's note]
(9) The conquests of Tamerlane far exceeded those of Zinghis Khan. He boasted to have two thirds of the world at his command. [Poe's note]
[The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 38:]
(10) I have often fancied that I could distinctly hear the sound of the darkness, as it steals over the horizon — a foolish fancy perhaps, but not more unintelligible than to see music —
“The mind the music breathing from her face.” [Poe's note] [[n]]
[The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 39:]
(11) There is a flow’r, (I have never known its botanic name,) vulgarly called the day flower. It blooms beautifully in the day-light, but withers towards evening, and by night its leaves appear totally shrivelled and dead. I have forgotten, however, to mention in the text, that it lives again in the morning. If it will not flourish in Tartary, I must be forgiven for carrying it thither. [Poe's note] [[n]]
[The following variant appears at the bottom of page 53:]
Title: Before this is TO / JOHN NEAL / THIS POEM / IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. (C)
[The following variant appears at the bottom of page 54:]
29 claim’d / claimed (E)
[The following variants appear at the bottom of page 55:]
40 Have / Hath (C, E)
42 an / one (E)
46 Appeared / Seem’d then (E)
50-51 Of human battle (near me swelling.) (E)
57 Was giantlike — so thou my mind (C, E)
64 sovereign's throne / sovereign-throne (E)
[The following variant appears at the bottom of page 57:]
111 turn’d / turned (E)
[The following variant appears at the bottom of page 59:]
187 When towering Eagle-Hope could see (D)
[The following variants appear at the bottom of page 61:]
235 unpolluted / undefiled (E)
237 trellic’d / trelliced (E)
243 very / brilliant (E)
The poem is thoroughly Byronic, and even more parallels than those here noted could probably be found to Byron's works. Earlier commentators have noticed resemblances to Wordsworth and Coleridge, but none striking enough to convince me that Poe knew much of those authors in 1827. Line references are to the version of 1845, unless specifically marked otherwise.
1-12 Compare Byron's Manfred, III, i, 154-158:
Old man! I do respect
Thine order, and revere thine years; I deem
Thy purpose pious, but it is in vain:
Think me not churlish; I would spare thyself,
Far more than me ...
Killis Campbell, The Poems of Edgar Allan Poe (1917), p. 149, cites also Manfred, III, i, 66-78.
15 (1827) There is a tower on the stage in Lewis's Timour the Tartar according to Martin Shockley, “Timour the Tartar and Poe's Tamerlane,” PMLA, December 1941 (56:1104-1105).
16-20 Compare Goldsmith's Traveller, line 436, for “Luke's iron crown” — a reference to the Hungarian rebel named George Dózsa, upon whose head a red-hot iron crown was placed in 1514. (Goldsmith confused him with his brother Luke, and Poe quoted Goldsmith's line as Pope's in a review of Bryant's Poems in the Southern Literary Messenger, January 1837.)
29-30 (1831) Compare Edward C. Pinkney, “Lines from the Portfolio of H——,” I, 75-76, “An ancient notion, that time flings / Our pains and pleasures from his wings ...” [page 62:]
30-34 This may allude to the royal horoscopes of Augustus Caesar and Tamerlane. Both had Saturn in the ascendant in Capricorn, and all the other planets in favorable aspects.
39 (1827) Note 2 Poe's exact source is unknown, but Mr. Francis Paar tells me that the mountains (the Pamirs) are a branch of the Himalayas in a part of Turkestan ruled by native khans in Poe's day. Johann Jakob Egli, Nomina Geographica (Leipzig, 1893), gives the forms Bolor-Tagh, Bélut-tagh, and Turkish Bulyt-tagh, meaning cloud mountains. Ancient geographers call the Himalayas Imaus, as does Milton, Paradise Lost, III, 431.
43 (1827) Manfred was saved from suicide by a chamois hunter.
44 (1827) Sir Walter Scott has the phrase “in pride of power” in The Lay of the Last Minstrel, Introduction, line 43.
79-99 (1831) These lines are a version of “The Lake.”
81 Poe's hero in “Berenice” says, “To muse for long unwearied hours with my attention riveted to some frivolous device on the margin, or in the typography of a book.”
84 (1831) Sultan-like pines are thought of as turbaned; compare the “serangs” in “Irenë.”
88 The envy of the angels appears again in “Annabel Lee,” and is cited as evidence by those who would connect that poem with Elmira Royster. Poe in 1827 wrote in the album of Octavia Walton, “The following lines are fr[om] Voltaire's story styled ‘The Princess of Babylon,’ ” and copied a passage ending “l’univers sera jaloux de lui.” L. A. Wilmer in Merlin (1827), III, iv, 1-2, speaks of “a joy that human kind can feel / And angels envy.” This is probably the earliest borrowing from Poe.
101 Poe wrote to Annie Richmond on November 16, 1848, of looking “deep into the clear Heaven of your eyes.”
102 Compare Byron, Don Juan, IV, x, 8, “Alas! There is no instinct like the Heart.”
116 Compare Byron, “The Dream,” line 51, “He had no breath, no being, but in hers.”
122-127 Poe wrote much of daydreams, and he has a passage in “Morella” on the intimate connection between a thing or a person and its name.
135-138 Richard Wilbur, Poe: Complete Poems (1959), p, 119, explains that Tamerlane's ambition for himself was mingled with a desire to make his beloved the queen.
136-143 (1827) In 1849 Poe told Miss Susan Ingram that the perfume of orris root reminded him of his foster mother, who kept it with her linen. See the New York Herald, February 19, 1905, quoted by Woodberry, Life, II, 332. In “Berenice” the hero dreams “away whole days over the perfume of a [page 63:] flower,” and in “The Pit and the Pendulum” writes of one “who ponders over the perfume of some novel flower.”
139-140 Compare “Fairy-land,” lines 16-17, “its centre on the crown / Of a mountain's eminence,” and “Serenade,” line 12, “on the spectral mountain's crown.”
139-141 Compare Edward C. Pinkney, Rodolph, I, 10-12:
To Rodolph's proud ancestral towers,
Whose station from its mural crown
A regal look cast sternly down.
156 (1827) Note 4 Edis is probably from Latin aedis, a small temple.
178 (1831) Bajazet was the Turkish sultan captured by Tamerlane.
178 (1827) Compare Byron, “Churchill's Grave,” line 43, “The Glory and the Nothing of a Name.”
180 The Siroc (sirocco) and the simoom are hot winds from the desert. Both are mentioned in the 1831 version (lines 180, 186), and the simoom appears in “Al Aaraaf,” II, 165.
191 Campbell (Poems, p. 153) compares the opening of Byron's “Monody on Sheridan”:
When the last sunshine of expiring day
In summer's twilight weeps itself away,
Who hath not felt the softness of the hour
Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower?
With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes
While Nature makes that melancholy pause,
Her breathing moment on the bridge where Time
Of light and darkness forms an arch sublime;
Who hath not shared that calm, so still and deep,
The voiceless thought which would not speak but weep.
199-200 See Poe's review of Harrison Ainsworth's Guy Fawkes in Graham's Magazine for November 1841, for a “dream ... in which the sufferer, although making ... efforts to run, finds a walk or a crawl” alone possible.
203 Poe refers to the coldness of the moon also in “Evening Star,” “Al Aaraaf,” II, 151, and “Ulalume.”
207-212 Wilbur (Poe, p. 118) says, “The villain of the piece is ... Time” which cuts the hero off from his boyhood with complete imaginative power, to seek real power as a man.
212 Compare King Lear, V, ii, 11, “Ripeness is all.”
213-215 See Byron's Don Juan, III, lii, 1-4:
He entered in the house — his home no more,
For without hearts there is no home; — and felt
The solitude of passing his own door
Without a welcome ... [page 64:]
229 Eblis is Mahomet's name for the prince of jinns and evil spirits.
239-251 (1831) These are a version of “To — —” (“Should my early life seem”).
243 Compare Milton's Lycidas, line 69, “the tangles of Neaera's hair.”
259 (1827) Note 5 The words “so abominably” are quoted from Hamlet, III, ii, 39.
275-276 (1827) See All's Well That Ends Well, IV, ii, 5, “If the quick fire of youth light not your mind.”
279 (1827) Alexis is a conventional shepherd's name, used in Vergil's second Eclogue and Pope's second Pastoral.
286 (1827) Byron's line in Childe Harold, III, i, 2, “Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart,” was extremely familiar in Poe's day, and his heroine is surely a namesake of Byron's only legitimate child. Byron wrote John Murray, on October 8, 1820, that the name had been used in his family in Plantagenet times, that it was that of Charlemagne's sister, and (probably) the same as Adah, wife of Lamech in Genesis 4:19. Poe omitted it in 1829, but used it in line 95 of 1831.
311 (1827) Poe echoes the opening of Bryant's “Thanatopsis”:
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language.
This form was in the version of 1821 and later. Compare also the first lines of Poe's own “Stanzas” (1827) below.
337 (1827) Zinghis is Genghis Khan, a reputed ancestor of Tamerlane. See also Poe's own first note on his poem.
339 (1827) Despite the absence of quotation marks, most of this line is taken verbatim from Byron's Childe Harold, III, xxi, 1. In the Wilmer manuscript version of 1828 it was retained with a change of “by night” to “tonight.”
347 (1827) Compare Gray's “Elegy,” “Melancholy mark’d him for her own.”
355 (1827) Compare Poe's “Coliseum,” line 3, “buried centuries of pomp and power.”
373 (1827) Note 10 Poe quotes from Byron, The Bride of Abydos, I, vi, 22. See also “Marginalia,” number 32, for Poe's fancy of a relation, which he thought might be mathematical, between a ray of orange light and the buzzing of a gnat.
389 (1827) Note 11 The dayflower is any member of the genus Commelina; the flowers last only a day. In this country members of the genus Tradescantia are also called dayflowers.
402 [[(1827)]] Compare Gray's “Elegy,” “Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.”
[The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 22:]
1 For full titles see the list of Other Sources Frequently Cited, below.
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Notes:
Mabbott's list of variants for this poem is slightly confusing. Presumably because he has given the 1831 text in full as version F, and the changes in that version are so extensive, he does not list among the variants for version H, for example, the change in line three of “think” (F) for “deem” (H). The reader should, therefore, be warned that the list of variants is not necessarily comprehensive. Indeed, none of the variants of version F are provided individually.
In his own copy of TOM's edition of the Poems, BRP makes several notes that should be mentioned. In the margin near the note for lines 88-89, BRP writes: “ Cunningham — Lily of Nithedale cf. my N&Q article on Scotch poem as origin, 5/1984,” referring to his article “ ‘Annabel Lee’ Traced to Cunningham's ‘Lily of Nithsdale‘,” American Notes and Queries, 22 (May 1984), pp. 133-134.
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[S:1 - TOM1P, 1969] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Editions-The Collected Works of Edgar Allan Poe (T. O. Mabbott) (Tamerlane)