The climax of "The Bells" is the muffled monotone of ghouls,
who glory in weighing down the human heart. "Lenore," _The Raven_, "The
Sleeper," "To One in Paradise," and "Ulalume" form a tenebrose
symphony,--and "Annabel Lee," written last of all, shows that one theme
possessed him to the end. Again, these are all nothing if not musical, and
some are touched with that quality of the Fantastic which awakes the sense
of awe, and adds a new fear to agony itself. Through all is dimly outlined,
beneath a shadowy pall, the poet's ideal love,--so often half-portrayed
elsewhere,--the entombed wife of Usher, the Lady Ligeia, in truth the
counterpart of his own nature. I suppose that an artist's love for one "in
the form" never can wholly rival his devotion to some ideal. The woman near
him must exercise her spells, be all by turns and nothing long, charm him
with infinite variety, or be content to forego a share of his allegiance.
He must be lured by the Unattainable, and this is ever just beyond him in
his passion for creative art.
Poe, like Hawthorne, came in with the decline of the Romantic school, and
none delighted more than he to laugh at its calamity. Yet his heart was
with the romancers and their Oriental or Gothic effects. His invention, so
rich in the prose tales, seemed to desert him when he wrote verse; and his
judgment told him that long romantic poems depend more upon incident than
inspiration,--and that, to utter the poetry of romance, lyrics would
suffice.
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