Womanweak, and woman mortal,Through thy spirit’s open portal,I would read the Runic recordOf mine earthly being o’er—I would feel that fire returning,Which within my soul was burning,When my star was quenched in darkness,Set, to rise on earth no more,When I sank beneath life’s burdenIn the streets of Baltimore!O, those memories, sore and saddening!O, that night of anguish maddening!When my lone heart suffered shipwreckOn a demon-haunted shore—When the fiends grew wild with laughter,And the silence following after,Was more awful and appallingThan the cannons deadly roar—Than the tramp of mighty armiesThrough the streets of Baltimore!Like a fiery serpent coiling,Like a Maelstrom madly boiling,Did this Phlegethon of furySweep my shuddering spirit o’er!Rushing onward, blindly reeling,Tortured by intensest feeling—Like Prometheus, when the vulturesThrough his quivering vitals tore—Swift I fled from death and darkness,Through the streets of Baltimore!No one near to save or love me!No kind face to watch above me!Though I heard the sound of footsteps,Like the waves upon the shore,Beating, beating, beating, beating!Now advancing, now retreating—With a dull and dreamy rhythm—With a long, continuous roar—Heard the sound of human footsteps,In the streets of Baltimore!There at length they found me lying,Weak and ’wildered, sick and dying,And my shattered wreck of beingTo a kindly refuge bore!But my woe was past enduring,And my soul cast off its mooring,Crying, as I floated outward,“I am of the earth no more!I have forfeited life’s blessingIn the streets of Baltimore!”Where wast thou, O Power Eternal!When the fiery fiend, infernal,Beat me with his burning fasces,Till I sank to rise no more?O, was all my life-long errorCrowded in that night of terror?Did my sin find expiation,Which to judgment went before,Summoned to a dread tribunal,In the streets of Baltimore?Nay, with deep, delirious pleasure,I had drained my life’s full measure,Till the fatal, fiery serpent,Fed upon my being’s core!Then with force and fire volcanic,Summoning a strength Titanic,Did I burst the bonds that bound me—Battered down my being’s door;Fled, and left my shattered dwellingTo the dust of Baltimore!Gazing back without lamenting,With no sorrowful repenting,I can read my life’s sad storyIn a light unknown before!For there is no woe so dismal,Not an evil so abysmal,But a rainbow arch of glorySpans the yawning chasm o’er!And across that Bridge of BeautyDid I pass from Baltimore!In that grand, Eternal City,Where the angel-hearts take pityOn the sin which men forgive not,Or inactively deplore,Earth has lost the power to harm me!Death can never more alarm me,And I drink fresh inspirationFrom the Source which I adore—Through my Spirit’s apothéosis—That new birth in Baltimore!Now no longer sadly yearning yearning—Love for love finds sweet returning—And there comes no ghostly raven,Tapping at my chamber door!Calmly, in the golden glory,I can sit and read life’s story,For my soul from out that shadowHath been lifted evermore—From that deep and dismal shadow,In the streets of Baltimore!
Womanweak, and woman mortal,Through thy spirit’s open portal,I would read the Runic recordOf mine earthly being o’er—I would feel that fire returning,Which within my soul was burning,When my star was quenched in darkness,Set, to rise on earth no more,When I sank beneath life’s burdenIn the streets of Baltimore!O, those memories, sore and saddening!O, that night of anguish maddening!When my lone heart suffered shipwreckOn a demon-haunted shore—When the fiends grew wild with laughter,And the silence following after,Was more awful and appallingThan the cannons deadly roar—Than the tramp of mighty armiesThrough the streets of Baltimore!Like a fiery serpent coiling,Like a Maelstrom madly boiling,Did this Phlegethon of furySweep my shuddering spirit o’er!Rushing onward, blindly reeling,Tortured by intensest feeling—Like Prometheus, when the vulturesThrough his quivering vitals tore—Swift I fled from death and darkness,Through the streets of Baltimore!No one near to save or love me!No kind face to watch above me!Though I heard the sound of footsteps,Like the waves upon the shore,Beating, beating, beating, beating!Now advancing, now retreating—With a dull and dreamy rhythm—With a long, continuous roar—Heard the sound of human footsteps,In the streets of Baltimore!There at length they found me lying,Weak and ’wildered, sick and dying,And my shattered wreck of beingTo a kindly refuge bore!But my woe was past enduring,And my soul cast off its mooring,Crying, as I floated outward,“I am of the earth no more!I have forfeited life’s blessingIn the streets of Baltimore!”Where wast thou, O Power Eternal!When the fiery fiend, infernal,Beat me with his burning fasces,Till I sank to rise no more?O, was all my life-long errorCrowded in that night of terror?Did my sin find expiation,Which to judgment went before,Summoned to a dread tribunal,In the streets of Baltimore?Nay, with deep, delirious pleasure,I had drained my life’s full measure,Till the fatal, fiery serpent,Fed upon my being’s core!Then with force and fire volcanic,Summoning a strength Titanic,Did I burst the bonds that bound me—Battered down my being’s door;Fled, and left my shattered dwellingTo the dust of Baltimore!Gazing back without lamenting,With no sorrowful repenting,I can read my life’s sad storyIn a light unknown before!For there is no woe so dismal,Not an evil so abysmal,But a rainbow arch of glorySpans the yawning chasm o’er!And across that Bridge of BeautyDid I pass from Baltimore!In that grand, Eternal City,Where the angel-hearts take pityOn the sin which men forgive not,Or inactively deplore,Earth has lost the power to harm me!Death can never more alarm me,And I drink fresh inspirationFrom the Source which I adore—Through my Spirit’s apothéosis—That new birth in Baltimore!Now no longer sadly yearning yearning—Love for love finds sweet returning—And there comes no ghostly raven,Tapping at my chamber door!Calmly, in the golden glory,I can sit and read life’s story,For my soul from out that shadowHath been lifted evermore—From that deep and dismal shadow,In the streets of Baltimore!
Womanweak, and woman mortal,Through thy spirit’s open portal,I would read the Runic recordOf mine earthly being o’er—I would feel that fire returning,Which within my soul was burning,When my star was quenched in darkness,Set, to rise on earth no more,When I sank beneath life’s burdenIn the streets of Baltimore!
O, those memories, sore and saddening!O, that night of anguish maddening!When my lone heart suffered shipwreckOn a demon-haunted shore—When the fiends grew wild with laughter,And the silence following after,Was more awful and appallingThan the cannons deadly roar—Than the tramp of mighty armiesThrough the streets of Baltimore!
Like a fiery serpent coiling,Like a Maelstrom madly boiling,Did this Phlegethon of furySweep my shuddering spirit o’er!Rushing onward, blindly reeling,Tortured by intensest feeling—Like Prometheus, when the vulturesThrough his quivering vitals tore—Swift I fled from death and darkness,Through the streets of Baltimore!
No one near to save or love me!No kind face to watch above me!Though I heard the sound of footsteps,Like the waves upon the shore,Beating, beating, beating, beating!Now advancing, now retreating—With a dull and dreamy rhythm—With a long, continuous roar—Heard the sound of human footsteps,In the streets of Baltimore!
There at length they found me lying,Weak and ’wildered, sick and dying,And my shattered wreck of beingTo a kindly refuge bore!But my woe was past enduring,And my soul cast off its mooring,Crying, as I floated outward,“I am of the earth no more!I have forfeited life’s blessingIn the streets of Baltimore!”
Where wast thou, O Power Eternal!When the fiery fiend, infernal,Beat me with his burning fasces,Till I sank to rise no more?O, was all my life-long errorCrowded in that night of terror?Did my sin find expiation,Which to judgment went before,Summoned to a dread tribunal,In the streets of Baltimore?
Nay, with deep, delirious pleasure,I had drained my life’s full measure,Till the fatal, fiery serpent,Fed upon my being’s core!Then with force and fire volcanic,Summoning a strength Titanic,Did I burst the bonds that bound me—Battered down my being’s door;Fled, and left my shattered dwellingTo the dust of Baltimore!
Gazing back without lamenting,With no sorrowful repenting,I can read my life’s sad storyIn a light unknown before!For there is no woe so dismal,Not an evil so abysmal,But a rainbow arch of glorySpans the yawning chasm o’er!And across that Bridge of BeautyDid I pass from Baltimore!
In that grand, Eternal City,Where the angel-hearts take pityOn the sin which men forgive not,Or inactively deplore,Earth has lost the power to harm me!Death can never more alarm me,And I drink fresh inspirationFrom the Source which I adore—Through my Spirit’s apothéosis—That new birth in Baltimore!
Now no longer sadly yearning yearning—Love for love finds sweet returning—And there comes no ghostly raven,Tapping at my chamber door!Calmly, in the golden glory,I can sit and read life’s story,For my soul from out that shadowHath been lifted evermore—From that deep and dismal shadow,In the streets of Baltimore!
[As the following lecture is, in a certain sense, an introduction to Poe’s “Farewell to Earth,” it has been considered advisable to publish it in connection with the poem.]
A LECTURE DELIVERED BY MISS LIZZIE DOTEN, AT CLINTON HALL, MONDAY, P. M., NOV. 2, 1863.
[Phonographically reported by Robert S. Moore.]
Forseveral reasons, we must be as brief and comprehensive as possible in our remarks to-night. We do not intend to make any great intellectual effort, or to endeavor to astonish you with lofty strains of eloquence. We simply desire to present to you a few facts in connection with the poem about to be given, and we do this under the distinctive title of our discourse,—The Mysteries of Godliness.
As Godliness was a mystery in the past, so is it in the present. And why is it a mystery? Because men understand so little of thepracticeof Godliness.Socrates was accustomed to say that “a man was always sufficiently eloquent in that which he clearly understood;” and thus a man will not look upon that as a mystery which is a part of his daily life, and with which he has become familiar through experience. But as it was in the days when Jesus lived and taught, or when Paul wrote his Epistle to Timothy, so Godliness, to the great mass of minds, remains a mystery. When Paul penned those words,—“Without controversy, great is the mystery of Godliness: God was manifest in the flesh, justified in the spirit, seen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles, believed on in the world, and received up into glory,”—he referred particularly to the life and teachings of Jesus. We, however, give to the passage a more comprehensive and extended application. If the “Mystery of Godliness” was made manifest in the life of Jesus because of his divinity, then do we say to the men of the present day, “Beloved, now are ye also sons of God.” And if “the Word was made flesh, and dwelt in the midst of men,” in the person of Jesus of Nazareth, so that same Word is incarnated, in greater or less degree, in every human being, be he rich or poor, black orwhite, bond or free. In the same way, also, every one possessing a living soul is a manifestation of the mystery of Godliness. And when a man goes into his own nature, when he understands himself, when he reads the mysteries of his own being, when he looks away from his positive and earthly necessities up to his Divine possibilities, and sees how vast is the range, how infinite his capabilities, then he begins to understand something of the mysteries of Godliness. The Church has used this phraseology in the past, and knew not what it meant. She had “the form of Godliness,” and yet in word and deed, ay, in very thought, she “denied the power thereof.” Therefore it has been, in all past time, when there were some true and sincere souls in the Church, who made manifest, both by profession and practice, that in part at least, they comprehended the mystery of Godliness, which is the highest spirituality,—not Spiritualism,—and let it flow out into the beauty and harmony of perfect lives, the Church looked at them with a doubtful countenance. There was such a thing as being too holy, and the Church felt that such lives were a reproach to her self-righteousness and hypocrisy. She was not familiar with the manifestation of true Godliness, and consequently looked upon it as something that threatened her internal peace, and the success of her stereotyped plan of salvation. Therefore it was, that the voice of condemnation was raised against Michael De Molinos, Fenelon, Madame Guyon, and the whole host of Quietists and Reformers. By dim forecastings of the soul, and heroic struggling with flesh and sense, they had learned something of that holy mystery. It was that which could not be translated into human language. It could not be written in books, but it was that which was to be felt in the soul, and made manifest in the life. Godliness, true spirituality, cannot find expression in words, and so it must of necessity manifest its Divine beauty in the life.
But what is the idea we intend to convey when we use the term “Godliness”? Who is God, from whose name this word is simply a derivative? Godliness is the manifestation of his spirit and power in the soul of man, yet it is not God. Who, then, is He! We must look into the lexicon of every human heart to find our reply; for each one worships his own Ideal of Deity according to therevelation of Truth which he receives, and to the capacity of his spirit to comprehend. The old philosophers sought for God in all the external world; they also went down into the mysteries of the spirit, as far as philosophy could sound its mighty depths, and yet they could not fathom his infinite nature. Although form and an external are necessary to man as a completion of his idea, yet when he reasons deeply concerning Deity, he cannot arrive at any satisfactory conclusions concerning his personality; he can only worship him as a principle, as a presence, and a power. Man, in his insignificance, can only look up to that superior Intelligence, which manifests itself throughout Nature, and worship either in the silence of the heart or in the inadequate articulations of human speech. The finite never did as yet compass and comprehend the Infinite. And before that majestic question which all the Ages have sought in vain to answer, before that mighty Oracle whose essence and nature have never been understood, man might as well remain dumb.
But where, you ask, shall man find his highest manifestation of Deity? How shall he know and understand God, so that he may attain unto thetrue mystery of Godliness? The most of God that you can know is through your own souls. Your neighbor may speak unto you of the influences which flow in upon him from the great Soul of all; you can only listen, but cannot comprehend, unless there is something of the same spirit—of the same Divine life within you. But as you grow in goodness and spirituality, you comprehend more clearly the truth which Jesus, the greatest Medium the world ever knew, spoke to the ears of men, when he said, “God is a Spirit, and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.” Therefore our definition of Godliness is spirituality, the influence of God felt in the soul and made manifest in the life of man. Just in proportion as this principle or power is realized in the hearts of men, they approach nearer unto Deity; they see more of his perfect life; they understand more of his ways; they leave speculations concerning his personality, and go away to those great generalizations whereby a man’s soul grows comprehensive and universal in its sympathies, and beholds the operations of the Infinite mind in all things. Thus, as Jesus was a manifestation of that Godliness or spirituality, theself-same Divine power—the “Divine in the human” is manifest in every sentient being.
And here we approach a mighty truth, in whose majestic presence we feel inclined to lay aside our dusty sandals; for the place whereon we stand seems holy ground. While studying the mysteries of our own being, we find that necessarily we worship Everlasting Truth, in whatever form it may be presented. We go away from limitations, we go away from sects and creeds, from tottering institutions and the musty theologies of the past, and stand face to face with that fresher revelation of Deity in the heart. Then it is that man feels there are primary and fundamental truths lying at the basis of all philosophy and all religion, and only as he builds upon these broad foundations can he rear a glorious superstructure against which all the winds of changing theories, and the descending floods of mere speculative philosophy, will not be able to prevail. As man, like one initiated into the mysteries of Masonry, enters into this lodge of freedom, he begins to believe in himself. No man can have faith in God who has no faith in himself; that is the first step towards the Divine. You take thatstep in the secret of the soul when you first acknowledge the “Divine in the human,” and confess its supporting influence.
For instance, two men may be standing on the borders of a precipice: below, there is the deep ravine; opposite, the other side of the mountain. They look far down and see rough, ragged points of rocks, and far, far below, the floods boiling white with foam. Over this abyss there is but one slight, frail bridge, and that is the trunk of a single tree. One man says, “Since we must pass over, I will precede. I know that I can go; Iwillgo.” That man has faith in himself. He plants his feet firmly; he looks upward, and passes safely over. The second says, “I do not believe that I can go; I fear I shall fall.” He totters on, trembling, until he reaches the middle, and then cries out, “O Lord, Lord, help me!” So surely as he utters that cry, faithless in his own power, that man must fall.
And thus it is with human souls. They are standing here, in earthly life, gazing across the great abyss of the Future. It is dark and terrible below. They cannot clearly understand what fate awaits them, but they see the strait and narrow way beforethem. If a man plants his feet firmly, and says, “I can, and I will,” it is the greatest possible acknowledgement of his faith in God. That man has stepped upon the threshold of the mysteries of Godliness; those mysteries will be made clearer and more apparent to his soul as he advances. But if, with craven soul, he says, “I know not what to do. I will wait for God’s providences, and let them come as they may; for of myself I can do nothing,”—if he trust to the vicarious atonement and an external Deity, and does nothing for his own salvation,—if, in making oral prayers to the Lord of the Universe, he forgets to “worship God in spirit,” and loses the vitalizing consciousness of the Divine within his own being, that man will assuredly err; he will continually go astray, for externally he has “the form of Godliness,” but practically and internally he denies “the power thereof.”
The world to-day is standing, in a certain sense, in that same position. Men are lifting up their hands, and crying, “Lord, Lord!” believing that they shall thus enter into the kingdom, while within their own beings there is a broad region of spiritual mysteries unknown and unexplored. Hereand there are instances where souls, driven by the action of their own importunate reason,—ay, we may say, by simple common sense,—have turned aside from creeds and theories, and have inquired earnestly of Nature and of the God within. It is refreshing at times to find such a soul: one that believes in the inspiration of the living Word, incarnated in all flesh, and made apparent throughout the universe,—not a Pantheist, believing in the manifestation of Deity in Nature alone, and in nothing higher, but realizing that the creation is the perceptible and external revelation of Deity; believing, with the German philosopher Fichte, that “there is a Divine Idea pervading this visible universe; which visible universe is indeed but its symbol and sensible manifestation, having in itself no meaning, or even true existence, independent of it. To the mass of men this Divine Idea lies hidden; yet, to discern it, to seize it, and live wholly in it, is the condition of all genuine virtue, knowledge, freedom, and the end, therefore, of all spiritual effort in every age.” He who lives and dwells in this Idea, enters into the mysteries of Godliness. All divine things are exceedingly simple when they are known. It is because men are looking too high that they do not receive the living inspirations of the Truth; they turn away from themselves, and neglect to observe the manifestation of the spirit within their own being. They look upon their brother man or sister woman, and forget to exercise that broad charity which sees the spirit struggling with the flesh, or feebly breasting the wild waves of a tempestuous life, simply because it was thus constituted and surrounded. Men commonly judge from their own individual stand-point, instead of going away back to the Divinity of the inner life, and from its pure eyes looking into the heart of their erring brother or sister. He who simply criticizes the man, and judges him by the limitations of his own life, errs greatly. But he who looks beyond and behind him, sees that there are truths, and principles, and powers, and loving, earnest spirits, who are endeavoring to make manifest their inspiration through him; and although he may be changeable in his nature, although he may be erratic and wandering, it is only through the excess of power that cannot find an appropriate manifestation through such an organization.
And such a one was he of whom we speak to-night,—that erratic genius,Edgar A. Poe. The mysteries of Godliness,—not of morality, as the world understands it,—confounded him. He could see more clearly than most of men. He looked out into the vast arcana of Nature, and his soul trembled before the majestic revelation. He knew not how to express, in any adequate form of speech, those great and mighty thoughts which rose and shone, like stars of wondrous beauty, in his soul; he knew not how to give his burning inspirations a manifestation through his life and being.
Edgar A. Poe was a medium. “A medium!” you say. “He himself would scorn the name; and we, who knew him, deny it.” But of what was he a medium? We do not confine ourselves to that definition of the term given by modern Spiritualists. He was a medium for the general inspiration which sets like a current of living fire through the universe. No special, no individual spirit wrought directly upon him, but he felt the might and majesty of occult forces from the world of causes, and trembled beneath their influence. He was a medium, not to disembodied spirits, only so far asmind acts upon mind by the great law of unity, and in the same way was he psychologically affected by spirits in the body. He had a peculiarly sensitive and impressible nature, and in the mysteries of a spirituality which he did not seek to comprehend, he was easily wrought upon by the minds around him. Not but what he possessed self-will; not, indeed, that he lacked that firmness, whereby, when his soul was aroused, he could repel such influences. But his nature was so finely strung that every harsh word, every unkindly discord, grated and thrilled through his entire being, so that oftentimes it would seem as though he would beat down the wall of clay to give his spirit freedom, and to escape forever from the inharmonious influences of the world,—from the presence of those by whom he was so little understood.
It is difficult to comprehend such natures, for they are not common. But, alas for such! They have no choice but to be denizens of this world, and all the rough, sharp angles of rude Humanity seem continually to wound and irritate their sensitiveness, torturing them almost to madness. And yet there is a deep, strong under-current to their lives.There is a beautiful spirituality which leads men to perceive that there is a power in the universe which balances all these inequalities and apparent inharmonies of human beings; and so, although they are set at variance with the world in certain portions of their nature, yet they are rewarded in others. Edgar A. Poe possessed the power of retiring from external things into the mysteries of the spirit. The greatest authors and musical composers the world ever knew, were those whose favorite pursuit so completely absorbed them that all external things were excluded, and they forgot, while their inspirations were upon them, what manner of men they were,—forgot the necessities of the flesh, and all the surroundings of their daily lives. Such men could understand our meaning, when we say that Edgar A. Poe lived much in his inner life, and there, as in the experience of the soul-rapt and inspired Boehmen, glorious revelations of the sublime and the beautiful were made manifest unto him. The common forms of human speech were inadequate for expression; therefore he seized upon the secret harmony of words, and strung them like flashing gems on thegolden line of his thought, weaving them into wild, strange metaphors, oftentimes so bewildering and dazzling, that the common mind could only feel the charm without comprehending the mystery. Like Ezekiel in his vision, he beheld the wondrous “living creatures, and the wheels,” and as they were represented, so did he describe them; but the mind of the reader must be in a similar state of illumination in order to clearly understand his meaning. There were seasons when he seemed to enter into a peaceful alliance with earth and all harmonious and beautiful things. Yet when his peculiarly sensitive nature was startled and aroused, he turned back to this Valhalla of his soul, and there he found another element of peace,—a strange, paradoxical peace, which comes through the herculean efforts of the soul to clamber up the rugged heights of destiny,—such peace as is given unto souls, when the angel, with a flaming sword, drives them from the Eden places of this world back into the mysteries of their being, in order that from their bloody sweat and bitter agony they may wring out great songs of moving inspiration, and reveal to mankind generally thewondrous world of ideas and causes which lies beyond the limits of sense and the range of external observation.
All such are men of Destiny. They are compelled over the ways which they tread. The world looks upon them, and cannot understand them; men consider them as anomalies and strange inconsistencies; as abnormal manifestations of the spirit. Yet “for this cause came they into the world;” and as poets, and artists, and musical composers are born with the undeveloped elements of their genius within them, so particular souls, in close connection with the spiritual world, who are continually receiving direct impressions and revelations from the sphere of causes, are born such from their cradle; and thus the mystery of spirituality or godliness, as the world passes on generation after generation, is becoming more and more apparent in the lives and experiences of men. When we speak of spirituality, do not consider that we mean modern Spiritualism, as understood by the world, which has furnished any amount of sheep’s clothing to the wolves who desire to prey upon the lambs in the unguarded fold of Humanity. Neither do we meanthat inflated spirituality, which, in its zeal for reform, and contempt for ceremonies and limitations, rushes to extremes, and, deceiving itself, “uses its liberty as an occasion to the flesh.” But we do mean that living principle, which makes itself manifest in high-toned souls, whose sublime aspirations exalt the whole life above the common level of Humanity. It may come out as a fitful and glimmering light, but it shows that the Divine inspiration is there, and all men, when they perceive it, are ready to acknowledge it as genuine. Whatever is truly good, glorious, or divine, that which possesses in itself real merit and inspiration, cannot fail to find a responsive echo. And thus was it with the writings of Poe. When, from the glowing fire-crypts of his soul, he wrought out, with master strokes, his “Raven,” and gave it to the world, men felt that there was the ring of true genius. And, although it was the utterance of a nature at variance with its earthy surroundings, and tortured by its own sensibility, yet because of its gloomy grandeur and euphonious rhythm, the poem could not fail to be appreciated.
Such natures cannot live long in the flesh. Theyare like two-edged swords, which wear upon the scabbard. There is ever an unseen hand upon the hilt, and finally, when the word of command is given, the sword is drawn, and becomes a most effective instrument in the hand of Everlasting Truth; then the individual nature that has so long battled the stormy elements of mortal life first perceives its advantages, and in the triumphant exultation which spirits always feel when freed from the fetters of mortality, it exclaims, “O Death! where is thy sting? O Grave! where is thy victory?” That diviner spirituality which was obscured by the flesh, which was crushed down by earthly circumstances, at length frees itself, and starts up in all its majesty and glory. But the mysterious growth and development of the spirit does not end here.
Perhaps in this connection we may present to you certain points from which you will feel obliged to dissent. They may seem like vague theories and wild speculations, yet they are truths which you are yet to realize in your eternal experience,—truths which this one of whom we speak will present to you in repetition to-night.
There is a power in man which is closely connected with the things of external life, and draws inspiration from nature and the associations of his fellow-men. There is a power, also, in every human being superior to the spirit, and that is the soul, or innermost life—which is a divine and indestructible principle. When, therefore, the garment of flesh is laid aside,—when the mortal puts on its immortality,—the spirit goes forth precisely as it is. If it has been under the influence of ungoverned passion; if it has striven, through mad ambition, to attain to some cherished ideal, still does it feel that impetus, and its earthly longings and aspirations must pass away through a gradual transformation. You may dissent from this, but the change of the earthly garment does not effect a radical change in the spirit. And thus, as the spirit of Edgar A. Poe started forth on its celestial journey, all that bound him to earth still held a certain degree of influence over him. “Life is one eternal progress,” and only by progression and the gradual development of his nobler nature could he outlive that bondage. In many respects he had loved life and the things of earth. Inhis intercourse with men he could not free himself from “the sins which did so easily beset him.” Neither could he restrain that sensitiveness and irritability of nature which so often destroyed the peace of his outer and inner life, and therefore he must necessarily outgrow that in higher conditions, and under more favorable influences. As he gradually attained to a sublimer consciousness of the beautiful and true, much of the wild and fitful fire peculiar to his genius departed from him, and there came in its stead a majestic flow of inspiration, solemn and grand as the music of the spheres. He saw that there were harmonious relations awaiting him; and as his soul was rich in sympathy and love, he aspired to those conditions, and he could not rest until he had attained unto them. The hinderance to his perfect peace was in his own spirit, and he realized it. It was for him the commencement of a mighty struggle,—
“When the golden bowl,—life’s token,—Into shining shards was broken.”
“When the golden bowl,—life’s token,—Into shining shards was broken.”
“When the golden bowl,—life’s token,—Into shining shards was broken.”
It would seem, then, as though conscious of his strength, he stood up like a spiritual giant, exclaiming, “I am free! At last I am free!” There was a complete expansion of his being as he drank in the celestial air. He could not clearly understand the mysteries by which he was surrounded, but he knew that there was a latent energy in his soul, which, being more fully developed, would wrestle with these mighty problems until he made the solution his own. As year after year, marking great and important changes in human experience, rolled on, men who remembered Poe as he was, said, “Now he rests from life’s labor; now he sins and sorrows no more.”
But they did not know upon what a mighty battle-field he stood, neither could they understand through what fires of purification he was passing. But there he stood, contending bravely, not once losing faith in his soul’s possibilities, and pressing earnestly forward to the desired consummation. And in this he was not alone. O, no! There was with him a whole host of moral heroes, who, conscious of their power to win the victory, and quickened by the inspirations which they received from that higher state of being, were striving, by the excelsior movement of the soul, to attain tothose glory-encircled heights from whence they could look calmly down upon the plane of their earthly existence.
Thus it was that, as they gradually arose higher and higher in the scale of being, he and they could perceive that all sin, and sorrow, and evil ended at length in blessing, and that truths, which were dim and indistinct, which seemed aught but truths, came out into clear and shining light, and in their heavens were stars of the first magnitude. Thus, also, as he toiled on he became versed in the mysteries of the spirit, not in mere moralities—for true religion, godliness or spirituality, is the full, free, and complete development of man’s entire being, both in the intellectual and moral. Science and literature, art and religion, have been separated by mankind, because they did not understand the true mystery of Godliness.
But in that higher life one of the first lessons taught to the soul is, that all things have their uses. Even the low, animal passions, leading man into error, into sin, sensuality, and evil, will thereby teach him lessons of wisdom; will teach him to avoid the false and the untrue, and also that therewere rocks and quicksands upon which his bark had almost foundered, and which in the future he must avoid. Whether it be these lower passions, or the intellectual and moral, still each must have its own appropriate manifestation.
And as all these capacities for growth and perception belong not to the body but to the spirit, so the spirit, sweeping away into the great Eternity, bears up all these powers of its wondrous mechanism with it, and the vision of Ezekiel is realized; for “the living creature being lifted up, the wheels are lifted up also.”
Each organ of the brain has its own magnetic circle, touching the one upon another like the mechanism of a watch, and all governed by the main-spring, which is the internal consciousness of man, the central power of his being. This order in the change from the mortal to the immortal is not lost, but finds a more harmonious surrounding. Thus, when the spirit has ascended, with its increased power, with its superior opportunities for observation and investigation of all the truths of the universe, it learns this most important truth,—that not inonedirection, but inall, the spirit shall find its most free and perfect development.
Thus having become familiar with the conditions of the higher life, the one of whom we speak realized that it was not in the poetic element of his being alone that he was to find inspiration, not in smooth flowing numbers or cunning arrangements of human speech, but in the grand harmony of the living whole—the perfect accord of his entire being. It was necessary, in passing forth from the flesh, that he should learn this simple lesson. He has endeavored by all the powers of his nature to make its application; and he has succeeded. This night he gives his “Farewell to Earth.” Not that he is to be divided forever in his interest from Humanity, but, no longer incited by restlessness or ambition, to express in rhythmic numbers the fiery thought within, no longer drawn by the sordid interests of this earthly life, he can gaze down upon this lower world and influence the minds of men, and still be above them. He can still minister, as an Everlasting Truth and living power, to the needs of Humanity; but as Poe, the individual, he is willing to be forgotten. His personality, as far as human recognition is concerned, can end here. He cares not that “this poor, paltrymeshould be spunout into Infinity.” He says: “Let my soul speak, which is the Divine Power. I have realized in myself the mysteries of Godliness, and know now that I too am Divine. I have merged and lost my will in the Great Will of the universe. I know now what heaven is; it is beauty, perfection, harmony. I would live forever in that celestial air, and draw in the vitalizing influences of truth. I do not desire to go down to the lowly homes of earth, nor to mingle with men in their contentions and selfish interests. I know that there is a Power guarding and guiding all things, and I can trust those whom I have loved, or those for whom I have cared, in that Almighty Hand. Whatever mysterious manifestation of wisdom on the part of Divine Providence comes to Humanity, I can say now, ‘It is well! Let the will of that Power be done!’ I have then no work to perform for you. I have only to carry with me through the vast Eternity an open nature, that I may receive truths, and, in passing onward, transmit them to those who are to follow after me.”
Thus it is with all great and earnest souls. “The mystery of Godliness,” or true spirituality, asan impelling and inspiring power, is behind them, making itself manifest through their being. It also stands before them, beckoning them on the way. It may be they have natures of steel and fire, and that a thought electric strikes upon the heart, and sits, a mania, on the brain. But still they feel that power impelling and persuading, and finally when they perceive that the grand current of human events is tending towards the great ocean of Infinite Truth, they are willing to let their own peculiarities and characteristic tendencies also flow on in the great stream, and so harmony is at length established, not only with themselves but all.
The lesson of Poe’s life, in itself, was worth much to Humanity. In coming time, others besides ourselves will dissect and analyze his peculiar nature, and present it, even as we have, to men, as an instance of that Spirit which was “made manifest in the flesh, which was seen of angels, was preached by inspired lips to Humanity, believed on in the world, and received up into glory.” Great, indeed, is the mystery of Godliness! great in the light of the human lives that come and go upon the broad arena of earthly existence. Great, also, is that mystery asmade manifest in those spirits who go forth from the flesh, and feeling the Divine inspiration stirring within them, seek for life,—Eternal Life,—in order that they may grow and expand to the fulness of their spiritual being, having within themselves a quenchless thirst for the harmonious and the beautiful. They are true to the great law of spirit, for whether in Time or Eternity, it may still be said that,—
“Within the heart of man there is a constant yearningFor something higher, holier, unattained,—Upward and onward, from the present turning,Yet resting never when a point is gained.Some unseen spirit evermore the soul is urgingThrough childish weakness and ambitious youth;And day by day all souls are still convergingNearer and nearer to the Central Source of Truth.Youth cuts a foothold in the Rock of Ages;The hope of Fame and Glory lures him on his way,And, pondering o’er the works of ancient sages,He catches glimpses of a brighter day.Alas! but toilsome is the way, and dreary,To him who has no high and holy aim,And, pausing on Life’s threshold, sad and weary,He casts away the laurel wreath of Fame.”[N]
“Within the heart of man there is a constant yearningFor something higher, holier, unattained,—Upward and onward, from the present turning,Yet resting never when a point is gained.Some unseen spirit evermore the soul is urgingThrough childish weakness and ambitious youth;And day by day all souls are still convergingNearer and nearer to the Central Source of Truth.Youth cuts a foothold in the Rock of Ages;The hope of Fame and Glory lures him on his way,And, pondering o’er the works of ancient sages,He catches glimpses of a brighter day.Alas! but toilsome is the way, and dreary,To him who has no high and holy aim,And, pausing on Life’s threshold, sad and weary,He casts away the laurel wreath of Fame.”[N]
“Within the heart of man there is a constant yearningFor something higher, holier, unattained,—Upward and onward, from the present turning,Yet resting never when a point is gained.Some unseen spirit evermore the soul is urgingThrough childish weakness and ambitious youth;And day by day all souls are still convergingNearer and nearer to the Central Source of Truth.Youth cuts a foothold in the Rock of Ages;The hope of Fame and Glory lures him on his way,And, pondering o’er the works of ancient sages,He catches glimpses of a brighter day.Alas! but toilsome is the way, and dreary,To him who has no high and holy aim,And, pausing on Life’s threshold, sad and weary,He casts away the laurel wreath of Fame.”[N]
Thus was it with Poe. Not clearly discerningthe purposes of life, he did not bend his efforts to one high and holy aim. His nature was wandering and erratic. This is alsohispresent view of his earthly life. “He has cast away his laurel wreath of fame,” and now upon his brow, burning brightly with the glories of the celestial sphere, is an olive wreath of peace. He stands now as a majestic soul, self-poised and harmonious. Yet he has not lost aught of the brilliancy and fire of his genius.
Edgar A. Poe was mighty in the flesh; and in the spirit he is mightier far. His manifestations will yet come to mankind, but not as from the individual. They will speak to your souls; they will breathe in words of fire from the lips of Humanity, as inspirations from the Higher Life, rather than as the utterances of him who was once known among men asEdgar A. Poe.
“O, ever thus have Earth’s most noble-heartedGone calmly upward to their place above!And when their footsteps from the earth departed,Have left their works of genius or of love.For Aspiration is the moral lever, raisingThe earnest spirit to its destined height;But Inspiration only comes from gazingUpon the perfect Source of Life and Light!”
“O, ever thus have Earth’s most noble-heartedGone calmly upward to their place above!And when their footsteps from the earth departed,Have left their works of genius or of love.For Aspiration is the moral lever, raisingThe earnest spirit to its destined height;But Inspiration only comes from gazingUpon the perfect Source of Life and Light!”
“O, ever thus have Earth’s most noble-heartedGone calmly upward to their place above!And when their footsteps from the earth departed,Have left their works of genius or of love.For Aspiration is the moral lever, raisingThe earnest spirit to its destined height;But Inspiration only comes from gazingUpon the perfect Source of Life and Light!”
[The following poem purports to be Poe’s final farewell to Earth. It was given in the city of New York, Monday evening, Nov. 2, 1863.]
Farewell! Farewell!Like the music of a bellFloating downward to the dell—Downward from some Alpine height,While the sunset-embers bright,Fade upon the hearth of night;So my spirit, voiceless—breathless,—Indestructible and deathless,From the heights of Life Elysian gives to Earth my parting song;Downward through the star-lit spaces,Unto Earth’s most lowly places,Like the sun-born strains of Memnon, let the music float along,With a wild and wayward rhythm, with a movement deep and strong.“Come up higher!” cry the angels.—This must be my parting song.Earth! O Earth! thou art my Mother.Mortal man! thou art my Brother.We have shared a mutual sorrow, we have known a common birth;Yet with all my soul’s endeavor,I will sunder, and forever,Every tie of human passion that can bind my soul to Earth—Every slavish tie that binds me to the things of little worth.“Come up higher!” cry the angels: “come! and bid farewell to Earth.”I would bear a love Platonic to the souls in earthly life;I would give a sign Masonic to the heroes in the strife;I have been their fellow-craftsman, bound apprentice to that Art,Whereby Life, that cunning draughtsman, builds his temple in the heart.But with Earth no longer mated, I have passed the First Degree;I have been initiated to the second mystery.O, its high and holy meaning not one soul shall fail to see!Now, with loftiest aspirations, onward through the worlds I march,Through the countless constellations, upward to the Royal Arch.“Come up higher!” cry the angels: “come up to the Royal Arch.”
Farewell! Farewell!Like the music of a bellFloating downward to the dell—Downward from some Alpine height,While the sunset-embers bright,Fade upon the hearth of night;So my spirit, voiceless—breathless,—Indestructible and deathless,From the heights of Life Elysian gives to Earth my parting song;Downward through the star-lit spaces,Unto Earth’s most lowly places,Like the sun-born strains of Memnon, let the music float along,With a wild and wayward rhythm, with a movement deep and strong.“Come up higher!” cry the angels.—This must be my parting song.Earth! O Earth! thou art my Mother.Mortal man! thou art my Brother.We have shared a mutual sorrow, we have known a common birth;Yet with all my soul’s endeavor,I will sunder, and forever,Every tie of human passion that can bind my soul to Earth—Every slavish tie that binds me to the things of little worth.“Come up higher!” cry the angels: “come! and bid farewell to Earth.”I would bear a love Platonic to the souls in earthly life;I would give a sign Masonic to the heroes in the strife;I have been their fellow-craftsman, bound apprentice to that Art,Whereby Life, that cunning draughtsman, builds his temple in the heart.But with Earth no longer mated, I have passed the First Degree;I have been initiated to the second mystery.O, its high and holy meaning not one soul shall fail to see!Now, with loftiest aspirations, onward through the worlds I march,Through the countless constellations, upward to the Royal Arch.“Come up higher!” cry the angels: “come up to the Royal Arch.”
Farewell! Farewell!Like the music of a bellFloating downward to the dell—Downward from some Alpine height,While the sunset-embers bright,Fade upon the hearth of night;So my spirit, voiceless—breathless,—Indestructible and deathless,From the heights of Life Elysian gives to Earth my parting song;Downward through the star-lit spaces,Unto Earth’s most lowly places,Like the sun-born strains of Memnon, let the music float along,With a wild and wayward rhythm, with a movement deep and strong.“Come up higher!” cry the angels.—This must be my parting song.
Earth! O Earth! thou art my Mother.Mortal man! thou art my Brother.We have shared a mutual sorrow, we have known a common birth;Yet with all my soul’s endeavor,I will sunder, and forever,Every tie of human passion that can bind my soul to Earth—Every slavish tie that binds me to the things of little worth.“Come up higher!” cry the angels: “come! and bid farewell to Earth.”
I would bear a love Platonic to the souls in earthly life;I would give a sign Masonic to the heroes in the strife;I have been their fellow-craftsman, bound apprentice to that Art,Whereby Life, that cunning draughtsman, builds his temple in the heart.But with Earth no longer mated, I have passed the First Degree;I have been initiated to the second mystery.O, its high and holy meaning not one soul shall fail to see!Now, with loftiest aspirations, onward through the worlds I march,Through the countless constellations, upward to the Royal Arch.“Come up higher!” cry the angels: “come up to the Royal Arch.”
Farewell! Farewell!Like the tolling of a bell,Sounding forth some funeral knell,—Tolling with a sad refrain,Not for those who rest from pain,But for those who still remain;So sweet pathos would I borrowFrom the loving lips of Sorrow,Weaving in a plaintive minor with the cadence of my song,For the souls that lonely languish,For the hearts that break with anguish,For the weak ones and the tempted, who must sin and suffer long;For the hosts of living martyrs, groaning ’neath some ancient wrong;For the cowards and the cravens, who in guilt alone are strong.But from all Earth’s woe and sadness,All its folly and its madness,I would never strive to save you, or avert the evil blow;Even if I would, I could not,Even if I could, I would notTurn the course of Time’s great river, in its grand, majestic flow;Grapple with those mighty causes whose results I may not know:All Life’s sorrows end in blessing, as the future yet shall show.From Life’s overflowing beaker I have drained the bitter draught,Changing to a maddening ichor in my being as I quaffed.I have felt the hot blood rushing o’er its red and rameous path,Like the molten lava, gushing in its wild, volcanic wrath;Like a bubbling, boiling Geyser, in the regions of the pole;Like a Scylla or Charybdis, threatening to ingulf my soul.O, for all such fire-wrought natures let my rhythmic numbers toll!Vulnerable, like Achilles, only in one fatal part,I was wounded, by Life’s arrows, in the head, but not the heart.“Come up higher!” cried the angels;—and I hastened to depart.
Farewell! Farewell!Like the tolling of a bell,Sounding forth some funeral knell,—Tolling with a sad refrain,Not for those who rest from pain,But for those who still remain;So sweet pathos would I borrowFrom the loving lips of Sorrow,Weaving in a plaintive minor with the cadence of my song,For the souls that lonely languish,For the hearts that break with anguish,For the weak ones and the tempted, who must sin and suffer long;For the hosts of living martyrs, groaning ’neath some ancient wrong;For the cowards and the cravens, who in guilt alone are strong.But from all Earth’s woe and sadness,All its folly and its madness,I would never strive to save you, or avert the evil blow;Even if I would, I could not,Even if I could, I would notTurn the course of Time’s great river, in its grand, majestic flow;Grapple with those mighty causes whose results I may not know:All Life’s sorrows end in blessing, as the future yet shall show.From Life’s overflowing beaker I have drained the bitter draught,Changing to a maddening ichor in my being as I quaffed.I have felt the hot blood rushing o’er its red and rameous path,Like the molten lava, gushing in its wild, volcanic wrath;Like a bubbling, boiling Geyser, in the regions of the pole;Like a Scylla or Charybdis, threatening to ingulf my soul.O, for all such fire-wrought natures let my rhythmic numbers toll!Vulnerable, like Achilles, only in one fatal part,I was wounded, by Life’s arrows, in the head, but not the heart.“Come up higher!” cried the angels;—and I hastened to depart.
Farewell! Farewell!Like the tolling of a bell,Sounding forth some funeral knell,—Tolling with a sad refrain,Not for those who rest from pain,But for those who still remain;So sweet pathos would I borrowFrom the loving lips of Sorrow,Weaving in a plaintive minor with the cadence of my song,For the souls that lonely languish,For the hearts that break with anguish,For the weak ones and the tempted, who must sin and suffer long;For the hosts of living martyrs, groaning ’neath some ancient wrong;For the cowards and the cravens, who in guilt alone are strong.But from all Earth’s woe and sadness,All its folly and its madness,I would never strive to save you, or avert the evil blow;Even if I would, I could not,Even if I could, I would notTurn the course of Time’s great river, in its grand, majestic flow;Grapple with those mighty causes whose results I may not know:All Life’s sorrows end in blessing, as the future yet shall show.
From Life’s overflowing beaker I have drained the bitter draught,Changing to a maddening ichor in my being as I quaffed.I have felt the hot blood rushing o’er its red and rameous path,Like the molten lava, gushing in its wild, volcanic wrath;Like a bubbling, boiling Geyser, in the regions of the pole;Like a Scylla or Charybdis, threatening to ingulf my soul.O, for all such fire-wrought natures let my rhythmic numbers toll!Vulnerable, like Achilles, only in one fatal part,I was wounded, by Life’s arrows, in the head, but not the heart.“Come up higher!” cried the angels;—and I hastened to depart.