1. |
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Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath bin;
Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win!
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 of country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was — but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, because poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked upon the scene before me — upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain — upon the bleak walls — upon the vacant eye-like windows — upon a few rank sedges — and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees — with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the reveller upon opium… What was it — I paused to think — what was it that so unnerved me in this terrible House of Usher?
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2. |
The Conqueror Worm
04:42
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Lo! It is a gala night
Within the latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes roughly
The music of the spheres
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither, oh and thither fly —
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to-fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible, Oh Woe!
That motley drama! — oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for ever more,
By a crowd seize it not
Salve Deus Magnus Vermis!
Devoratrix nostrum cordis!
Nos quaerere nam permis
Ut sint servitori vobis!
Through a circle that ever returneth
Into the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin
And Horror the soul of plot
But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes! It writhes! — with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And angels sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued
Nos - filii ex libero
Et numquid universali,
Quid facere quod anima
Regendisque ex stellis,
Et
Gloria terrena dulcis
Vermis-victum dedit nos
Gloria amore fetus luce et tenebris, oh!
Worm in fiery crown
Rules this world of light
Kiss His knees and vow
Glorify His might!
Out are the lights — out all!
And o'er each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm!
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy "Man",
And its hero the Conqueror Worm;
And the demons, all ruby and fanned
They abandon, condemn, disaffirm
That their play is the comedy "Man"
And its king is the Conqueror Worm!
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3. |
Lenore
06:15
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Ah, broken is the golden bowl! The spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll! – a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear? – weep now or nevermore!
See! On yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
“Come! Let the burial rite be read – the funeral song be sung! –
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young”
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young
A wistful song of lovers fed with blood from necks that hung!
My lovely nymph that shone like star fell on the earth with pun
And my salt tears run like river, and darkened beaming God of Light and Sun…
Sun!
CHORUS:
Peccavimus; but rave not thus! And let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong
The sweet Lenore hath "gone before", with Hope, that flew beside,
Leaving thee wild for the child that should have been thy bride
For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes
The life still there, upon her hair – the death upon her eyes…
The death still there, upon her wear – and eyes are full of cries!
"Wretches! Ye lov’d her for her wealth and hated for her pride,
And when she fell in feeble health, ye bless’d her – that she died!
How shall the ritual, be read?” – The requiem be sung.
For everlasting martyrdom the sins were madly done
And hellish bells around your soul forevermore had rung!
CHORUS
"Avaunt! Avaunt! From fiends below, the irate ghost is riven –
From grief and groan, to golden throne, beside the King of Heaven!
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Well –
From good and laugh, to skull-clad throne, beside the King of Hell!”
Let no bell toll, then – lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damnèd Earth!
And I! – to-night my heart is light! – No dirge will I upraise,
But waft the angel on her flight with Paean of old days!
CHORUS
“Let no bell toll, then – lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damnèd Earth!”
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4. |
Valley Of Unrest
06:36
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...Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sun lazily lay
The red sunlight lazily lay…
Now each visitor confess
The sad valley’s restlessness
Nothing there is motionless
In this dale of hopelessness!
Hopelessness in portliness
Of isle that show
Despair and woe
O'er the violets that lie
In myriad types of the human eye –
O'er the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops
They weep from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems
CHORUS:
By no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through unquiet Heaven
Around the misty Hebrides!
Hebrides...
Winds are dancing o'er the vales of woe
And spinning clouds full of tears
Restless tears…
Around only death a-flying
And wilted flowers clothed these isles
And souls howl song of perish
‘Neath the weeping moon
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sun lazily lay
Nothing saves the airs that brood
O'er magic solitude
Waves and winds are bloody rude
In this season's servitude
...Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars!
Now each visitor confess
The sad valley’s restlessness
Nothing there is motionless
In this dale of hopelessness...
Hopelessness sans chrominance
Upon that isle
So un-hostile!
O’er the violets that lie
In myriad types of the human eye –
O’er the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops
They weep from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems
CHORUS:
By no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through unquiet Heaven
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
Uneasily, from morn till even
Around the misty Hebrides!
Hebrides...
“And I lay here on the rivage
Of gloomy island’s barren earth
I lay in slumber, age-old servage
To tristy Goddess of love’s dearth…”
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5. |
Raven
12:32
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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
O'er a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore —
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door
Ah, distinctly I remember it’s in darkened bleak December;
And pythonic dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —
This is all and nothing more
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore”
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
I implore…
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wond’ring, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
Then this ebon bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!
Nothing more!
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wand’ring from the Nightly shore —
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore”
Yeah, for we can’t help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Nevermore! Nevermore! Nevermore!
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered —
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before —
As my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore —
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door...”
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this eerie bird of yore —
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and haunted bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite, respite and nepenthe from thy mem’ries of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
«It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore —
Is there, is there balm in Gilead? — tell me, tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!"
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore!
Lenore!
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! — Prophet still, if bird or devil! —
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting —
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore”
“I dreamed to see someday the poet,
Who's heart is ruby, awful-woed
This piece of wisdom – his soul’s roar
My hat is off to mr. Poe!”
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6. |
The Sleeper
06:48
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At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapour, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steal drowsily and musically
Into the universal grand valley
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping fog about its breast,
The ruin moulders into rest…
Looking like Lethe, see! The lake!
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All beauty sleeps! – And lo! Where lies
Mary on highs
This beauty dies…
Anemones
Of clemencies
Oh, lady bright! Can it be right –
The window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice drop –
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully – so fearfully –
Above the closed and fringéd lid
'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid,
That, o'er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Anemones
Of clemencies
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! Strange thy dress!
Strange, above all, thy length of tress… Tress
And this all solemn silentness!
The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep! Deep!
Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one more melancholy
(Melancholy…)
Is it a mirth or a whole folly?
I pray to God that she may lie
Forever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!
My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
As it is lasting, so be deep!
Soft may the worms about her creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may some tall vault unfold –
Some vault that oft hath flung its black
And wing’d panels’ fluttering back,
Triumphant, o'er the crested palls,
Of her grand kindred funerals -
Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portal she hath thrown,
In childhood, there’s an idle stone –
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within…
My friend! Take your staff, go wander through the valley, and in the longest night you shall fall into the deep eternal sleep… In this dream, try to see all the most beautiful and desirable that the soul yearns for centuries. Find happiness and truth in this unforgettable dream that gods give man only once!
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7. |
Spirits Of The Dead
04:48
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Thy soul shall find itself alone
‘Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone —
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy
Aye!!
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness — for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee — and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still
The night, tho’ clear, light shall frown —
And the stars shall look not down
From their high thrones in the heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne’er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more — like dew-drop from the grass
The breeze — the breath of God — is still —
And the mist upon the hill,
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
Thy soul shall find itself alone
‘Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone —
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy
Aye!!
Spirits of the Dead!
Spirits of the Dead!
Spirits of the Dead!
The night, tho’ clear, light shall frown —
And the stars shall look not down
From their high thrones in the heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given —
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.
For ever…
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8. |
Annabel Lee
06:29
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It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me...
…with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me!
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love —
I and my Annabel Lee —
(But we loved with a love that was more than love —
I and my Annabel Lee —)
With a love that the wing’d seraphim of Heaven
Covetèd her and me...
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea...
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea!
CHORUS:
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my beautiful Annabel Lee;
Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea —
In her tomb by the sounding sea!
My Annabel Lee…
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me —
Yes! — That was the reason as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee!!
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee!!!
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9. |
A Dream Within A Dream
03:08
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Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You’re not wrong, who really deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is a dream within a dream…
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! Yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
Through my heart that beats so creep
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! Can I not save
One from the ruthless wave?
Is all we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
But a dream within a dream…
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NimphaioN Shuya, Russian Federation
NIMPHAION – a symphonic black metal band from Shuya (Russia) formed in 2001.
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