Parodies of the works of English & American authors, vol. II
General
Parodies of the works of English & American authors, vol. II
Parodies
Yes! heaven is thine, but this
Is a world of sours and sweets,――
Where cold meats are cold meats,
And the eater’s most perfect bliss
Is the shadow of him who treats.
If I could griddle
As Israfiddle
Has griddled――he fiddle as I,――
He might not fiddle so wild a riddle
As this mad melody,
While the Pleiads all would leave off in the middle
Hearing my griddle-cry. *
――――――――
* ISRAFEL.
“_And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who has
the sweetest voice of all God’s creatures._”――KORAN.
I.
In Heaven a spirit doth dwell,
“Whose heart-strings are a lute;”
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel;
And the giddy stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.
II.
Tottering above
In her highest noon
The enamoured Moon
Blushes with love;
While to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiades even,
Which were seven)
Pauses in heaven.
III.
And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli’s fire
Is owing to that lyre
By which he sits and sings,――
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.
* * * * *
VII.
Yes, heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely flowers,
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.
VIII.
If I could dwell
Where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.
E. A. POE.
――――:o:――――
THE GHOULS IN THE BELFRY.[13]
Hear the story of the Ghouls!
Who will tell us of the Ghouls?
Who has been told?
Of the Ghouls, Ghouls, Ghouls,――
Who are neither man nor woman.
Who are neither beast nor human,
Who are neither fish nor cayman,――
Who will tell us, clerk or layman?
They are Ghouls;
Live in holes
Like moles
Under the boles, boles, boles
Of old trees, where the forest rolls
Of the mouldy days of old;
Or in tarns, tarns, tarns,
Dull and dismal as the yarns
Of morbific spools,――
Dank tarns and dismal pools,
There dwell the Ghouls,
With other tarn’d fowls,――
Not to say fools.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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