Literature Out Loud

Sunrise on the Hills by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sunrise on the Hills

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch

Was glorious with the sun's returning march,

And woods were brightened, and soft gales

Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.

The clouds were far beneath me; bathed in light,

They gathered mid-way round the wooded height,

And, in their fading glory, shone

Like hosts in battle overthrown.

As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance.

Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,

And rocking on the cliff was left

The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft.

The veil of cloud was lifted, and below

Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow

Was darkened by the forest's shade,

Or glistened in the white cascade;

Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,

The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.

I heard the distant waters dash,

I saw the current whirl and flash,

And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach,

The woods were bending with a silent reach.

Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell,

The music of the village bell

Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills;

And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills,

Was ringing to the merry shout,

That faint and far the glen sent out,

Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke,

Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke.

If thou art worn and hard beset

With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,

If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep

Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,

Go to the woods and hills! No tears

Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.

 

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The Tell-tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe -- text with audio by Dane Allred

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TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but, once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! Yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture -- a pale blue eye with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me my blood ran cold, and so by degrees, very gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye for ever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded -- with what caution -- with what foresight, with what dissimulation, I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night about midnight I turned the latch of his door and opened it oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern all closed, closed so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly, very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this? And then when my head was well in the room I undid the lantern cautiously -- oh, so cautiously -- cautiously (for the hinges creaked), I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights, every night just at midnight, but I found the eye always closed, and so it was impossible to do the work, for it was not the old man who vexed me but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers, of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was opening the door little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea, and perhaps he heard me, for he moved on the bed suddenly as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back -- but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness (for the shutters were close fastened through fear of robbers), and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.

I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening , and the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out, "Who's there?"

I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed, listening; just as I have done night after night hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

Presently, I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief -- oh, no! It was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself, "It is nothing but the wind in the chimney, it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or, "It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes he has been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions; but he had found all in vain. ALL IN VAIN, because Death in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel, although he neither saw nor heard, to feel the presence of my head within the room.

When I had waited a long time very patiently without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little -- a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it -- you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily -- until at length a single dim ray like the thread of the spider shot out from the crevice and fell upon the vulture eye.

It was open, wide, wide open, and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness -- all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones, but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person, for I had directed the ray as if by instinct precisely upon the damned spot.

And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses? now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder, every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! -- do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me -- the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once -- once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But for many minutes the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence.

I took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly so cunningly, that no human eye -- not even his -- could have detected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out -- no stain of any kind -- no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that.

When I had made an end of these labours, it was four o'clock -- still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, -- for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.

I smiled, -- for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search -- search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My MANNER had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears; but still they sat, and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness -- until, at length, I found that the noise was NOT within my ears.

No doubt I now grew VERY pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased -- and what could I do? It was A LOW, DULL, QUICK SOUND -- MUCH SUCH A SOUND AS A WATCH MAKES WHEN ENVELOPED IN COTTON. I gasped for breath, and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly, more vehemently but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why WOULD they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men, but the noise steadily increased. O God! what COULD I do? I foamed -- I raved -- I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder -- louder -- louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly , and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! -- no, no? They heard! -- they suspected! -- they KNEW! -- they were making a mockery of my horror! -- this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! -- and now -- again -- hark! louder! louder! louder! LOUDER! --

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- tear up the planks! -- here, here! -- it is the beating of his hideous heart!"

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Edgar Allan Poe -- Biography Out Loud

Master of mystery and the macabre, he may be one of America’s most famous writers. Well respected in France, his works were translated there by Charles Baudelaire. Married to his 13 year-old cousin, she died only seven years later, and “the death of a beautiful woman” became one of this writer’s frequent themes. Known best for his scary short stories and poems, who is this writer born January 19^th, 1809 in Boston, Massachusetts?

We’ll find out in a moment on Biography Out Loud.

Edgar Allan Poe’s father abandoned his family, and Poe’s mother died a year later. Never formally adopted by the Allan’s, Poe and his foster father had a turbulent relationship. Poe signed with the U.S. Army as “Edgar A. Perry”, later deciding to try to end his enlistment early. Revealing his false identity, his commanding officer made Poe write to his foster father who later supported the discharge. Poe found someone to replace him in Army, and John Allan wrote in support of Poe enlisting in West Point. Edgar Allan Poe was also later discharged from there.

Though a struggling writer most of his life, “The Raven” made him famous overnight although he was only paid nine dollars for the poem. Known for “The Tell-Tale Heart”, “The Black Cat”, “Annabelle Lee” and “A Cask of Amontillado”, Poe was one of the first writer’s to attempt to make a living full-time from his work. Found disoriented and wandering the streets of Baltimore on October 3^rd, 1849, Poe died four days later, only 40 years old.

One hundred years after his birth, cognac and three roses were left on his grave. The tradition carried on for more than 60 years. When the “Poe Toaster” didn’t appear in 2010, leading to speculation the person who has carried on this tradition may have died.

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Giving up or giving in? a limerick by Dane Allred

Giving up or giving in?

When I try something new for a while,

It ends up with a frown or a smile.

I like it, I do it.

I hate it, I’m through it,

It’s a good thing I’m adjustibile.

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Paradise Paranoia

More than 15 years ago, my wife Debbie had bone cancer. After surgeries, hospitalization and chemotherapy, she was upbeat even when she lost her hair. Now it’s been 15 years, and she’s still here and kicking. I remember back to how brave she was to go to school and teach with a fanny pack hanging around her waist. It was pumping chemotherapy directly into her heart.

Very soon after Debbie's last chemo treatment we were given a week's vacation to Hawaii by her parents. The kids weren't very old, maybe 13 and 10, and Debbie was still very weak, but we were all excited for our first trip to Hawaii.

I think it was supposed to be a time for Debbie to rest, but who knows when we would ever get back again, so I kept her entertained and tired, and after it was over she had to return home to rest from her vacation.

We stayed on the island of Oahu the entire week visiting the Polynesian Cultural Center, the Dole Pineapple Plantation, the North Shore for shaved ice, and we even went twice to Hanauma Bay to snorkel. Debbie couldn't do much more than sit on the shore and soak up the sun, which is not such a bad thing in Hawaii.

She did try to go in the water once and feed the fish, but they mobbed her and she had to get out. I was just glad she was doing better, and it was fun for the family to have some time together.

I continued my usual introspection by discovering an ingrown hair on a very disturbing place which shall not be revealed at this time. Suffice it say that any man with an ingrown hair there would freak out just as I did. I didn't want to ruin the vacation by insisting on a visit to the hospital, and it didn't seem to be spreading or causing any disfiguration, so I decided to be manly about it and wait until we returned to the states.

For all I knew, I was the victim of a special kind of cancer that no one discussed and I had never heard of before. We had been dealing with cancer for over a year now, and I think it was natural that this thought came across my mind. I almost went crazy with anticipation wondering if I would live or die.

Dr. Wylie just laughed when I finally showed up in his office. He expected it to clear up with no residual effects, and he was correct. I continue to function normally, if you know what I mean.

The other event that confirms my lack of brain cells occurred on the east side of the island away from the crowds of Waikiki Beach, thank goodness.

It was a beautiful beach which we had almost entirely to ourselves, just past the blowhole and sort of by the Buddhist temple which we had visited previously. The koi were so thick at the Buddhist temple that there seemed to be no water in the stream.

But at this pristine beach there was what appeared to be a blob of blue bubble gum marring the sands. I was quite indignant that someone would be careless enough to spit out their gum on this wonderful beach, and my indignation led me to action. I bent over and picked up the gum.

It stung me.

I was puzzled, since I had never been stung by a wad of gum before. It was one of the strangest things I have ever experienced, and with my lack of brain cells, I did the only thing I could think of.

I picked it up again.

And it stung me again. This time I threw it to the ground, which meant I threw it on my calf, whereupon I was stung again.

I was completely dumbfounded. As I looked more closely at this wad of gum on the beach, I noticed a long thin string which extended into the ocean emanating from the blue blob. Slowly I realized I was looking at a blue jellyfish, and I think it was a Portuguese Man'O'War jellyfish. Which apparently extends parts of itself out to sting unsuspecting prey like me.

I was now hurting like I had been stung in three places by a giant bee. I commented on the stings to my wife who only laughed. She had been through so much worse, and I’ve injured myself so regularly she knows better than to pity me. Someone nearby must have heard what had happened and commented that urine usually took the pain out of the sting. I immediately went to the restrooms.

I haven't picked up blue bubble gum from the beach since, and I advise you to avoid it, too.

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Abundance Friends Oct. 24th

This is the complete episode of Abundance "Friends" from Oct. 24th

LITERATURE OUT LOUD

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