The Ottawa Free Trader

A REMARKABLE POEM.

WRITTEN BY R. A. LAVERDER, JR., A MANIAC IN THE LUNATIC ASYLUM, RALEIGH, N. C.

The following remarkable poem, says the Louisville (Ky.) Commercial, was written by a man so insane that, at times, he had to be confined by a straight-jacket. He fancied that it was dictated to him by the spirit of Edgar Allan Poe:

Fires within my brain were burning.
Scorning life, despairing, yearning,
Hopeless, blinded in my anguish,
Through my body's open door,
Came a Raven, foul and sable,
Like those exile birds of fable,
Downward sweeping, where the drooping
Spectres haunt the Stygian shore.
Ghosts of agonies departed,
Fostering wounds that long had smarted.
Broken vows, returnless moanings,
Griefs and miseries of yore.
By some art revived, undaunted,
I gazed steadfast: the enchanted.
Black, Infernal Raven uttered
A wild dirge—not—Evermore!
Gazing steadily, gazing madly
On the bird, I spoke, and sadly
Broken down, too deep for scorning,
Sought for mercy to implore.
Turning to the bird I blessed it—
In my bosom I caressed it—
Still it pierced my heart and reveled
In the palpitating gore,
I grew mad; the crowning fancies
Black weeds they—not blooming pansies.
Made me think the bird a spirit,
"Bird," I cried, "be bird no more:
Take a shape—be Man, be Devil,
Be a snake; rise and revel:
From thy banquet rise—be human!
I have seen thee oft before:
Thou art a bird, but something more.
"Tapping, tapping, striking deeper,
Rousing pain, my body's keeper,
Thou hast of erewhile sought entrance
At the heart's great palace door,
Leave me, leave me, gloomy demon,
Fiend of spirit, most inhuman:
Strike me through, but first unveiling,
Let me scan thee o'er and o'er—
Thou art a bird, but something more
Still with sable pinions flapping
The great Raven, tapping, tapping,
Struck into my breast its talons,
Vast his wings outspread and o'er
All my nature cast a pallor.
But I strove, with dying valor,
With the poignard of repulsion
Striking through the form it wore
Of a bird and something more
"O! thou huge, infernal Raven,
Image that Hell's King hath graven,
Image growing more gigantic,
Nursed beyond the Stygian shore.
Leave me, leave me, I beseech thee,
I would not of wrong impeach thee:"
I cried madly, then earth opened,
With a brazen earthquake roar,
Downward, downward, circling, speeding,
Cries of anguish still unheeding,
Striking through me with his talons.
Still the Raven form he bore,
Unto Erebus he drifted,
His huge wings by thunder lifted.
Beats 'gainst drifts of white flamed lightning
Sparkled red with human gore,
Twas a bird, but demon more!
"I'm no bird, an angel brother,
A bright spirit and no other,
I have waited, blissful tended
There for thirty years or more.
In the wild illusive madness,
In thy bright disease and sadness,
I have sounded, tapping, tapping,
At thy spirit's Eden door,
Not a bird, but angel more.
"In my Palmyrenian splendor.
In Zenobian regnance tender,
More than Roman, though Aurelian,
Where the kingly name I bore,
I have left my angel palace,
Dropping in thy sorrow's chalice
Consolation, oh, 'twas blessed.
Sweet thy pillow to bend o'er,
Not a bird, love's angel more.
"Shining down with light Elysian
Through the pearly gates of vision,
On thy tranced soul's lighted fancy.
Whence across thy chamber floor,
Fell the spirit moonlight laden,
Laden with soft dews from Aidenn,
Shaken downward, still Nepenthe
Drunk by drinking bards of yore.
Ended in life's mocking fever
Where though citron groves forever
Blow the spice winds, and the love birds
Tell their raptures o'er and o'er.
From the earth's hell by Afrit's haunted
From its evil disenchanted,
I have borne thee, gaze upon me,
Didst thou see me ne'er before
Then I wakened, if to waken
But to dwell by grief, forsaken,
With the God who dwells with angels
In the shining age of yore:
And I stood sublime, victorious,
While below lay earth with glorious
Realm of angels shining
Crown-like on her temples evermore
Not on earth, on Eden more.
Earth." I cried, "thy clouds and shadows
From the Asphodelion meadows
Of the sky-world floating downward,
Earthly rains that from them pour,
Love's own heaven thy mother bore thee.
And the Father God bends o'er thee
Tis His hand that crowns thy forehead
Thou shalt live forevermore,
Not on earth, an Eden more.
As a gem hath many gleamings
And a day hath many beamings.
And a garden many roses
Thrilled with sweetness to the core,
So the soul hath many ages
And the life's book many pages.
But the heart's great gospel opens
Where the Seraphims adore
Not on earth, an Eden more
I will write a book hereafter.
Cheerful as a baby's laughter.
When its mother's breast o'er leans it
On the sainted spirit shore
Like Apollo, the far darter,
I the poet and the martyr,
Will chant peans of soul music
That shall live forever more,
Not a friend, but a brother more