ANNETTE.

[Text: Broadway Journal, December 6, 1845.]
WITH fairy feet who treads the flowers?
Whose voice to the wind-harp sings?
Whose laughter startles the silent hours

And the shadows that brood with wide-spread wings
On the vine-hung walls of odorous bowers,

And over the waters of star-lit springs ?

Whose smile do I see, thou beautiful one!
On lips like the leaves of the rose !
Like the tremulous smile of the radiant sun
On fields of the crusted snows:-

Or moonbeams that play where rivulets run
And crystal rivers repose!

Whose eyes so surpassing the violet's hue,
That the violets envying weep,

With glances of love in their depths of blue,
Like the clear, calm skies, so distant and deep,
Look out beneath fringes soft as the dew
On the violets in their sleep?

Annette! Annette! Ah, stay by my side!

Let me hear thy tremulous tone!

Thou art gentle and fair, like one who died,

(Alas that she died !) in days that have flown: And no vision of pain

Dost thou bring me again

Of the golden-haired the violet-eyea

But dreams of her beauty alone!

(Signed)

A. M. IDE.

THE MAMMOTH SQUASH.

BY EDGAR A. POE.

[W. M. Griswold's Correspondence of R. W. Griswold, p. 200.]

GREEN and specked with spots of golden,

Never since the ages olden

Since the time of Cain and Abel,

Never such a vegetable,

So with odors sweetest laden

Thus our halls appearance made in.
Who oh! who in kindness sent thee

To afford my soul nepenthe?

Rude men seeing thee, say "Gosh!
'Tis a most enormous squash! "
But the one who peers within,
Knowledge of himself to win,

Says, while total silence reigns,
Silence, from the Stygian shore
(Grim silence, darkling o'er)

"This may perchance be but the skull
Of Arthur Cleveland Coxe so dull-

Its streaked, yellow flesh - his brains."

NOTE.

-

The Mammoth Squash" is prefaced by the following words (Griswold's Correspondence, pp. 198200) : "In October, 1845, the literary world was amused by a clever article in T. Dunn English's Mag

azine, The Aristidean, a part of which I reprint as it indicates, more or less accurately, the prevailing opinion of the authors mentioned.

"Anxious to present our readers with the best specimens of the poetry of this country, we addressed notes to various of our poets, requesting them to furnish us, without charge, the means of fulfilling our desire. This, we conceived, to be a very modest request. To our surprise, some of these notes were returned, and others' were retained, but no reply made. To some we received answers, with the required poems. We print, below, the whole of the latter. Our readers will enjoy these sublime effusions." "

Then follow letters and poems from J. Pierpont, C. J. Peterson, Geo. P. Morris and J. G. Whittier, with the following burlesque :

"NEW YORK CITY, Sept. 28, 1845.

"MY DEAR SIR: For old acquaintance' sake I comply with your request; but your attempt will be a failure. Reasoning a priori, I could demonstrate that it cannot succeed. But I will not waste my logic on

an obstinate man.

"Your obedient servant,
"EDGAR A. POE."

Then follows The Mammoth Squash."

THE FIRE LEGEND.

WE insert the following poem as probably the most successful imitation of Poe's manner if imitation it be now in existence. Mr. J. H. Ingram, in his monograph on "The Raven,' London: George Redway 1885, gives the history of the poem, which he considers a "tawdry parody." Dr. B. B. Minor, editor of the Southern Literary Messenger from 1843 to 1847, sends J. A. H. this note :

"I have seen Russell's Mag. for Jan. 1860. On p. 372 it says:

"Considered partly as a parody and partly as a professed imitation, we have seldom read a more successful performance than the following:

"FIRE-FIEND A NIGHTMARE.

"From an unpublished MS. of the late Edgar A. Poe, in the possession of Chas. D. Gardette.'

"The Messenger has Fire-legend,' etc.

"In Stanza VII., the Mess. has world-enriching.'

"I hesitated at this when I copied it.
"Russell's Magazine has 'world-encircling.'

THE FIRE LEGENDA NIGHTMARE.

[From Southern Literary Messenger, July, 1863.]

From an unpublished MS. of the late Edgar A. Poe.

1.

In the deepest dearth of midnight, while the sad and solemn swell

Still was floating, faintly echoed from the forest chapel bell

Faintly, falteringly floating o'er the sable waves of air That were thro' the midnight rolling, chafed and billowy with the tolling

In my chamber I lay dreaming, by the firelight's fitful gleaming,

And my dreams were dreams foreshadowed on a heart foredoomed to care!

2.

As the last, long, lingering echo of the midnight's mystic chime,

Lifting through the sable billows of the thither shore of Time

Leaving on the starless silence not a token, nor a trace For a quivering sigh departed, from my couch in fear I started,

Started to my feet in terror, for my dream's phantasmal

error

Painted in the fitful fire a frightful, fiendish, flaming

face!

Depth?