Edgar Allan Poe

The heathen philosopher, when he had a mind to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth, meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open.”

As You Like It.

At Venice, in the year —, in the street —, lived Pedro Garcia, a metaphysician. – With regard to date and residence, circumstances of a private and sacred nature forbid me to be more explicit. In all mental qualifications our hero was gigantic. Moreover, in bodily circumference, he had no cause of complaint; but, in right ascension, four feet five was the philosopher’s ne plus ultra

125 A fearful idea now suddenly drove the blood in torrents upon my heart, and for a brief period, I once more relapsed into insensibility. Upon recovering, I at once started to my feet, trembling convulsively in every fiber. I thrust my arms wildly above and around me in all directions. I felt nothing; yet dreaded to move a step, lest I should be impeded by the walls 130 of the tomb. Perspiration burst from every pore and stood in cold big beads on my forehead. The agony of suspense grew at length intolerable, and I cautiously moved forward, with my arms extended, and my eyes straining from their sockets, in the hope of catching some faint ray of light.

I proceeded for many paces; but still all was blackness and vacancy. I 135 breathed more freely. It seemed evident that mine was not, at least, the most hideous of fates.

I now lay upon my back, and at full length, on a species of low framework of wood. To this I was securely 265 bound by a long strap resembling a surcingle. It passed in many convolutions about my limbs and body, leaving at liberty only my head, and my left arm to such extent that I could, by dint of much exertion, supply myself with food from an earthen dish which lay by my side on the floor. I saw, to my horror, that the pitcher had been removed. I say to my 270 horror; for I was consumed with intolerable thirst. This thirst it appeared to be the design of my persecutors to stimulate: for the food in the dish was meat pungently seasoned. Looking upward I surveyed the ceiling of my

prison. It was some thirty or forty feet overhead, and constructed much as the side walls. In one of its panels a very singular figure riveted my whole 275 attention. It was the painted figure of Time as he is commonly represented, save that, in lieu of a scythe, he held what, at a casual glance, I supposed to be the pictured image of a huge pendulum such as we see on antique clocks. There was something, however, in the appearance of this machine which caused me to regard it more attentively. While I gazed directly 280 upward at it (for its position was immediately over my own) I fancied that I saw it in motion. In an instant afterward the fancy was confirmed. Its sweep was brief, and of course slow. I watched it for some minutes, somewhat in fear, but more in wonder. Wearied at length with observing its dull movement, I turned my eyes upon the other objects in the cell.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;

all the night–tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride

In her sepulchre there by the sea—

In her tomb by the side of the sea.

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoke

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoken!

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted—nevermore!

lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."