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THE FIRE-FIEND.-C. D. Gardette.

A NIGHTMARE. The Author of this was challenged to produce a poem, in the manner of " The Raven," which should be accepted by the general critic as a genuine composition of Mr. Poc's, and “The Fire-Fiend" was the refuit. It was printed as “from an unpublished MS, of the late Edgar A. Poe." and the hoax proved sufficiently successful to deceive a number of critics in this country, and also in England. In the deepest dearth of Midnight, while the sad and

solemn swell
Still was floating, faintly echoed from the Forest Chapel

Faintly, falteringly floating o'er the sable waves of air
That were through the Midnight rolling, chafed and bil-

lowy with the tolling-
In my chamber I lay dreaming by the fire-light's fitful

gleaming, And my dreams were dreams foreshadowed on a heart fore

doomed to Care !

As the last long lingering echo of the Midnight's mystic

Lifting through the sable billows to the Thither Shore of

Leaving on the starless silence not a token nor a trace-
In a quivering sigh departed; from my couch in fear I

started :
Started to my feet in terror, for my Dream's phantasmal

Painted in the fitful fire, a frightful, fiendish, flaming face!
On the red hearth's reddest centre, from a blazing knot of

Seemed to gibe and grin this Phantom when in terror I

awoke, And my slumberous eyelids straining as I staggered to the


Till I felt my life-stream oozing, oozing from those lambent

lips :Till the Demon seemed to name me:-then a wondrous

calni o'ercame nie, And my brow grew cold and dewy, with a death-damp

stiff and gluey, And I fell back on my pillow in apparent soul-eclipse !


Then, as in Death's seeming shadow, in the icy Pall of

Fear I lay stricken, came a hoarse and hideous murmur to my Came a murmur like the murmur of assassins in their

sleep : Muttering, “ Higher ! higher ! higher ! I am Demon of

the Fire! I am Arch-Fiend of the Fire! and each blazing roof's my

pyre, And my sweetest incense is the blood and tears my victims


“How I revel on the Prairie ! How I roar among the

Pines ! How I laugh when from the village o'er the snow the red

Hame shines, And I hear the shrieks of terror, with a Lise in every

breath! IIow I scream with lambent laughter as I hurl each crack

ling rafter Down the fell abyss of Fire, until higher ! higher ! higher ! Leap the High-Priests of my Altar in their merry Dance

of Death!

"I am Monarch of the Fire! I am Vassal-King of

Death! World-en circling, with the shadow of its Doom upon my

breath! With the symbol of Hereafter flaming from my fatal face! [comma nd the Eternal Fire! Higher ! higher! higher ! Till the Belfry in the Forest quivered with the matin

stroke, And the martins, from the edges of its lichen-lidded

ledzes, Shimmered through the russet arches where the Light in

torn files marches, Like a routed army struggling through the serried ranks

of oak.

Through my ivy-fretted casement filtered in a tremulous

note From the tall and stately linden where a Robin swelled his

throat :Querulous, quaker-breasted Robin, calling quaintly for his

mate1 Then I started up, unbidden, from my slumber Night

mare ridden, With the memory of that Dire Demon in my central Fire, On my eye's interior mirror like the shadow of a Fate !

Ah ! the fiendish Fire had smouldered to a white and form

less heap, And no knot of oak was flaming as it flamed upon my

sleep; But around its very centre, where the Demon Face had

shone, Forked Shadows seemed to linger, pointing as with spec

tral finger To a BIBLE, massive, golden, on a table carved and

oldenAnd I bowed, and said, “All Power is of God, of God

alone !"


AGAINST all chambermaids, of whatsoever age or eignty, and unpitying your helplessness, they make the bed just as it was originally, and gloat in secret over the pang their tyranny will cause you.

Always after that, when they find you have transposed the pillows, they undo your work, and thus defy and seek to embitter the life that God has given you.

If they cannot get the light in an inconvenient position any other way, they move the bed.

if you pul your trunk out six inches from the wall, so that the lid will stay up when you open it, they always shove that trunk back again. They do it on purpose.

If you want the spittoon in a certain spot, where it will be handy, they don't, and so they move it.

They always put your other boots into inaccessible places. They chietly enjoy depositing them as far under the bed as the wall will permit. It is because this compels you to get down in an undignified attitude and make wild sweeps for them in the dark with the boot-jack, and

They always put the match-box in some other place. They hunt up a new place for it every day, and put up a bottle, or other perishable glass thing, where the box stood before. This is to cause you to break that glass thing, groping in the dark, and get yourself into trouble.

They are forever and ever moving the furniture. When you come in, in the night, you can calculate on finding the bureau where the wardrobe was in the morning. And when you go out in the morning, if you leave the slopbucket by the door, and the rocking-chair by the window, when you come in at midnight, or thereabouts, you will fall over that rocking-chair, and you will proceed toward the window and sit down in that slop-tub. This will disgust you. They like that.

No matter where you put anything, they are not going to let it stay there. They will take it and move it the first

It is their nature. And, besides, it gives them pleasure to be mean and contrary this way.


chance they get.

charged with purloining the same, they lic about it. What do they care about a hereafter ? Absolutely nothing.

If you leave your key in the door for convenience sake, they will carry it down to the office and give it to the clerk. They do this under the vile pretence of trying to protect your property from thieves ; but actually they do it because they want to make you tramp back down-stairs after it when you come home tired, or put you to the trouble of sending a waiter for it, which waiter will expect you to pay him something. In which case I suppose the degraded creatures divide.

They keep always trying to make your bed before you get up, thus destroying your rest and inflicting agony upon you ; but after you get up, they don't come any more till next day.

They do all the mean things they can think of, and they Jo them just out of pure cussedness, and nothing else.

Chambermaids are dead to every human instinct.

I have cursed them in hehalf of outraged bacuelordom. They deserve it. If I can get a bill through the Lugislature abolishing chambermaids, I mean to do it.

AWAKET AWAKE! (1861.)- Elmer Ruare Coates. MEN of the mountain and men of the valley,

Men of the woodland, of city and plain,
A demon is plotting the death of our nation,

And 'ranging the work for the funeral train.
The Star Spangled Banner this moment implores you,

The ashes of Washington nervously shake ;
The eagle is cager and anxious for action,

Men of America ! 'Wake! Awake!!
Come from the hamlet where, close by your darling,

You see the corn wave from your bower-like door; Come from the counter-your wives and your daughters

Will 'tend to the books and the lace of the store. Come from the college, thou student of pallor

What rhetoric grand will a battery make! Farmers, mechanics, and men of profession,

Away with the soldiers ! Awake! Awake!!

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