The Raven illustrated by Gustave Doré E-Book

Edgar Allan Poe

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Seitenzahl: 34

Beschreibung

In the following pages, we have a fresh example of an artist's genius characterizing his interpretation of a famous poem. Gustave Doré, the last work of whose pencil is before us, was not the painter, or even the draughtsman, for realists demanding truth of tone, figure, and perfection. Such matters concerned him less than to make shape and distance, light and shade, assist his purpose,-which was to excite the soul, the imagination, of the looker on. This he did by arousing our sense of awe, through marvellous and often sublime conceptions of things unutterable and full of gloom or glory. It is well said that if his works were not great paintings, as pictures they are great indeed. As a "literary artist," and such he was, his force was in direct ratio with the dramatic invention of his author, with the brave audacities of the spirit that kindled his own.

Leseprobe

The Raven illustrated by Gustave Doré

The Raven illustrated by Gustave DoréTHE RAVENCOMMENT ON THE POEM.THE POEM."Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'Other friends have flown before—On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'""Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingFancy unto fancy.""But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'erShe shall press, ah, nevermore!""On this home by Horror haunted.""Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore.""And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floorShall be lifted—nevermore!"memento"'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice;Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.'". . . . . . . . . "Tell me truly, I implore—Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!""Here I opened wide the door;—Darkness there, and nothing more."NevermoreMemento"Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—Perched, and sat, and nothing more.""Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore.""Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.""'T is some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door—Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door.""'Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked, upstarting.""Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrowFrom my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore.""Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.""For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—Nameless here for evermore.". . . . . . . . "A stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he.""Open here I flung the shutter.""Wandering from the Nightly shore.""'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!'""'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent theeRespite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!'""Sorrow for the lost Lenore."Copyright

The Raven illustrated by Gustave Doré

Edgar Allan Poe

THE RAVEN

COMMENT ON THE POEM.

The secret of a poem, no less than a jest's prosperity, lies in the ear of him that hears it. Yield to its spell, accept the poet's mood: this, after all, is what the sages answer when you ask them of its value. Even though the poet himself, in his other mood, tell you that his art is but sleight of hand, his food enchanter's food, and offer to show you the trick of it,—believe him not. Wait for his prophetic hour; then give yourself to his passion, his joy or pain. "We are in Love's hand to-day!" sings Gautier, in Swinburne's buoyant paraphrase,—and from morn to sunset we are wafted on the violent sea: there is but one love, one May, one flowery strand. Love is eternal, all else unreal and put aside. The vision has an end, the scene changes; but we have gained something, the memory of a charm. As many poets, so many charms. There is the charm of Evanescence, that which lends to supreme beauty and grace an aureole of Pathos. Share with Landor his one "night of memories and of sighs" for Rose Aylmer, and you have this to the full.