An Elegy for One Roderick Usher, or 'the Haunted Palace'

A round of applause for our good pal, Frankenstein
Oh, settle down, settle down
I know, Frankenstein's the scientist
Oh, me? No, no, no, no, don't be absurd
I've no tales to tell, nor songs to sing

Well, not of my own
So how about I regale you with a story of a dear friend of mine?
My name remains unimportant
But this is an elegy for one Roderick Usher
Or 'the haunted palace'

I staggered, as it were, 'pon yon shambled, pallid house
Not in gait, but in the soul
So desolate can an image of once proud distinction be
When interned beneath time's sacramentary toll

Insufferable, the sight of such a miserable wretch as he
A friend at once alive and stone-cold dead
A musician of the string, he compelled his guitar to sing
And at last, and for the first, I heard such frightful, dreadful, doleful, dismal, intensely conscious dread
He said

"In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels, tenanted
Once a fair and stately palace
Radiant palace reared its head, in the monarch thought's dominion
It stood there, never seraph spread a 'pinion over fabric half so fair"

Madeline, oh, poor Madeline, such an anguished visage worn
A depression deeply soaked, and yet so fresh
Ever will the memory of the pair of kin forlorn
Stake its claim upon my being, on my flesh

My pal and I, we mused, we dined
We spoke and laughed, or at least we tried
But we all know now, time's never been our friend
Merely days passed us by, Madeline passed, Roderick cried
Thinking back, it must be then the name of 'Usher' met its end, oh, oh

"Banners yellow, glorious, golden
On its roof did float and flow
(This, all this, was in the olden time, long ago)
And every gentle air that dallied in that sweet day
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid
A winged odor went away

Wanderers in that happy valley
Through two luminous windows, saw spirits moving musically to a 'lute's well tuned law
Round about a throne, where sitting porphyrogene
In state, his glory well befitting the ruler of the realm was seen

Encoffined, lain entombed 'neath the mansion she once knew
Lady Madeline seemed naught but full of life
Such, I've heard is the irony of the cataleptic's rue
A corpse that conceals the living's strife

But I admit, from that night forward, comfort seldom graced my heart
'Til one dark night had wrung my senses warped and wry
In my folly, I'd thought a story could act to soothe my hysteric friend and I, even then, I knew it futile
But I'd be damned if I could not at least try

And all with pearl and ruby glowing, was the fair palace door
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, and sparkling evermore
A troop of echoes, whose sweet duty was but to sing in voices of surpassing beauty
The wit and wisdom of their king

And Ethelred, drunkened, full of might
Sought the hermit, and sought to find a fight
And so he wrenched, and ripped through the wooden screen, with strength befit him
But the champion stood enraged, amazed, to find flaring scales and tongue ablaze
And a shield of shining brass, legend enwritten

"Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath bin
Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win"
And as the legend was fulfilled, Ethelred's ears were at once filled with shriek so horrid and harsh, such piercing din

Bolstered by success, Ethelred gloried in excess
Kicked the carcass out path to his new boon
But tarry not did it
And instead, silver floor it hit
And let a mighty, ringing screech pervade the room

Now, skeptical am I of things called 'paranormal'
Or at least, back then, that was the case
But as the sounds described on page became choral
I saw hysteria painted on his face

Looking past my eye, not far beyond me
Just as he screamed, she sought her brother
And not seconds later, they lie, two lifeless bodies, each dead and decayed as the other

I fled, afraid and aghast
And watched a crack begin to tear
None but I can say in truth, they bore witness to the fall of the house of Usher

"But evil things, in robes of sorrow, assailed the monarch's high estate
Ah, let us mourn, for never 'morrow, shall dawn upon him, desolate
And, 'round about his home, the glory
That blushed and bloomed, is but a dim-remembered story of the old time entombed

And travellers now within that valley, through the red-litten windows, see
Vast forms that move fantastically to a discordant melody
While, like a rapid ghastly river, through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever, and laugh, but smile no more