Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream! My spirit not awak’ning, till the beam Of an Eternity should bring the morrow: Yes! tho’ that long dream were of hopeless sorrow, ‘Twere better than the dull reality Of waking life to him whose heart shall be, And hath been ever, on the chilly earth, […]

I. How shall the burial rite be read? The solemn song be sung ? The requiem for the loveliest dead, That ever died so young? II. Her friends are gazing on her, And on her gaudy bier, And weep ! – oh! to dishonor Dead beauty with a tear! III. They loved her for her […]

It was a chilly November afternoon. I had just consummated an unusually hearty dinner, of which the dyspeptic truffe formed not the least important item, and was sitting alone in the dining-room with my feet upon the fender and at my elbow a small table which I had rolled up to the fire, and upon […]

Impia tortorum longos hic turba furores Sanguinis innocui, non satiata, aluit. Sospite nunc patria, fracto nunc funeris antro, Mors ubi dira fuit vita salusque patent. [Quatrain composed for the gates of a market to he erected upon the site of the Jacobin Club House at Paris. ] I was sick—sick unto death with that long […]

The “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal — the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body […]

True!—nervous—very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am! but why willyou say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses—not destroyed—not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I […]

1839 Son cur est un luth suspendu ; Sitôt qu’on le touche il rèsonne. [[résonne. ]] De Béranger. DURING the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract […]

What say of it? what say of CONSCIENCE grim, That spectre in my path? Chamberlayne’s Pharronida. LET me call myself, for the present, William Wilson. The fair page now lying before me need not be sullied with my real appellation. This has been already too much an object for the scorn — for the horror […]

THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could ; but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. At lengthI would be avenged ; this was a point definitively settled […]

What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad ! He hath been bitten by the Tarantula. —ALL IN THE WRONG MANY years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. […]

IN THE consideration of the faculties and impulses—of the prima mobiliaof the human soul, the phrenologists have failed to make room for a propensity which, although obviously existing as a radical, primitive, irreducible sentiment, has been equally overlooked by all the moralists who have preceded them. In the pure arrogance of the reason, we have […]

Nil sapientiae odiosius acumine nimio. —Seneca. At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn of 18—, I was enjoying the twofold luxury of meditation and a meerschaum, in company with my friend C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back library, or book-closet, au troisiême, No. 33, Rue Dunôt, Faubourg St. Germain. For […]

And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great will pervading all things by nature of its intentness. Man doth not yield himself to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will. —Joseph […]

What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, although puzzling questions, are not beyond allconjecture. Sir Thomas Browne. THE mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis. We appreciate them only in their effects. We know of them, among other […]

Qui n’a plus qu’un moment à vivreN’a plus rien à dissimuler. Quinault—Atys. Of my country and of my family I have little to say. Ill usage and length of years have driven me from the one, and estranged me from the other. Hereditary wealth afforded me an education of no common order, and a contemplative […]

Of course I shall not pretend to consider it any matter for wonder, that the extraordinary case of M. Valdemar has excited discussion. It would have been a miracle had it not—especially under the circumstances. Through the desire of all parties concerned, to keep the affair from the public, at least for the present, or […]

For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not –and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, […]