POE AND JOHN NEAL.

'POE AND JOHN NEAL. POE'S EARLIEST LETTER. THE 1829 POEMS IN MS. THE MAGICIAN. THE SKELETON HAND.

"THE Yankee; and Boston Literary Gazette: New Series... No. 1: July, 1829," is the title of a rare periodical monthly edited by John Neal with a motto from Bentham : 66 Utility. The greatest happiness of the greatest number," and devoted, in the twenties, to literature, art, science, and the drama. In some way Poe's attention was drawn to this publiIcation after the issue of his Boston "Tamerlane volume of 1827, and while he was engaged in preparing for the press the "Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems" of 1829.

He was barely twenty at the time, and scanning the horizon all around for a sympathetic friend, his gaze fell by chance, it seems, on John Neal and his periodical at a time when the partial rupture with the Allans rendered Poe peculiarly susceptible to sympathy. The result was that Poe began a correspondence with Neal

1 The editor has been permitted to make this study of Poe's early literary relations with John Neal and "The Yankee through the courtesy of the authorities of the Hallowell (Maine) Social Library, which owns the rare volume of "The Yankee " quoted. He would also thank Prof. C. F. Richardson, of Dartmouth College, for his kindness in locating and securing the use of the volume for him.-J. A. H.

which resulted in several contributions of poems to the magazine. The two poems we reproduce here "The Skeleton Hand" and "The Magician' appear, the former in the August number of "The Yankee "signed " P————,” the latter in the December number, signed the same way. Both are in our opinion boyish products of Poe's muse, The Magician," a finely imaginative one; and as to the latter, the writer has the high authority of Prof. Richardson, who agrees with him that it is undoubtedly Poe's. As

to "

The Skeleton Hand," Prof. Richardson and Dr. Kent dissent; Dr. Kent, also, thinks "The Magician" is not Poe's.

I.

THE SKELETON-HAND.

[From The Yankee, Aug., 1829.]

Lo! one is on the mountain side,
While the clouds are passing by
With their black wings flapping heavily,

Like eagles in the sky;

Or lying up in the forest trees,

And waiting there for the mountain-breeze.

And now he passes through the clouds

And up to the mountain-top,

Nor yet to look for the joyous sun

Does the hasty traveller stop.

But he leapeth down in the broken path

With a step as light and free

As ever in his days of mirth,

In the dance and revelry.

Why endeth he his hasty speed?
Why stoppeth on his way?

In truth it is a fearful thing,

For human tongue to say.

He fears that toward him pointeth there,

A fleshless human hand;

Where the mountain rains have swept away,

Its covering of sand ;

That hand his very soul doth stir,

For it proveth him a murderer.

Ay long ago on the mountain side,
The fearful deed was done ;

And the murderer thought him safe, that none
Could see, save the broad bright sun,

As he rolled in the heavens the dead above, And flooded the earth with his rays of love.

Now lifted he his clouded eye,

To the mountain crests behind;

And o'er them came the broad black clouds,
Upheaving with the wind;

And on them their thick darkness spread -
A crown upon the mountain's head.

And then shone out the flaming sun,

From the waters of the sea;

And God's own bow came in the clouds,
And looked out gloriously;

But its colours were of wo and wrath,

That threw their light o'er the murderer's path.

And now God's chariots the clouds,
Came rolling down with might;
Their wheels like many horsemen were,
In battle or in flight.

And yet no power to move hath be,
His soul is in an agony.

Over the murderer and dead,

They rolled their mighty host;
Old ocean's waves come not so thick,
By northern tempests tost.

Forth from their mighty bosom came,

A flash of heaven's wrath,

And away the heavy clouds — and sun,

Rolled from the murder-path.

And the sun shone out where the murderer lay,

Before the dead in the narrow way

With his hand all seared, and his breast torn bare God's vengeance had been working there.

(Signed)

P

II.

THE MAGICIAN.1

[December, 1829.]

THOU dark, sea-stirring storm,
Whence comest thou in thy might
Nay-wait, thou dim and weary form-
Storm spirit, I call thee - 't is mine of right
Arrest thee in thy troubled flight.

STORM SPIRIT.

Thou askest me whence I came

I came o'er the sleeping sea,

It roused at my torrent of storm and flame,
And it howled aloud in its agony,

And swelled to the sky

that sleeping sea.

Thou askest me what I met
A ship from the Indian shore,
A tall proud ship with her sails all set
Far down in the sea that ship I bore,
My storms wild rushing wings before.

And her men will forever lie,
Below the unquiet sea;

And tears will dim full many an eye,
Of those who shall widows and orphans be,
And their days be years

for their misery.

1 The punctuation throughout is the author's by desire.

- [John Neal's note.]