On Wings of Azrael
Marche Funebre
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Lyrics
Lo! 'Tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre
A play of hopes and fears,
The orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God
Mutter and mumble low,
Hither they fly --
Mere puppets who come and go
At bidding of vast forms
That shift the scene to and fro,
Flapping their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama!
It shall not be forgot!
Its Phantom chased forever more,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that returneth
To the self-same spot,
Much of Madness, more of Sin
Horror the soul of the 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 the seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out --out are the lights --out all!
And over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down like a storm,
The angels, pallid and wan,
Unveiling they affirm
The play is the tragedy,
"Man, Its hero the Conqueror Worm."
"Crushed into the very dust with sorrow
My memory flew back to Ligeia,
The beloved, The august, The entombed.
One night, near the closing in of September
A shadow --a faint,
Indefinite shadow of angelic aspect
I saw, fall within the goblet,
By the terror, by the opium and by the hour."
"Rowena had shaken off the fetters of Death
Arising from the bed of death
I trembled not --I stirred not
She chilled me into stone"
"Shrinking from my touch,
She let fall from her head
Long and dishevelled hair
Blacker than the raven wings of the midnight!
Can I never be mistaken --these are the full, and the black, and the wild eyes
Of my lost love
Of the LADY LIGEIA."