The Lake

by
Edgar Allen Poe

In spring of youth it was my lot

To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less-
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.

But when the Night had thrown her pall

Upon that spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody-
Then-ah then I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright,

But a tremulous delight-
A feeling not the jewelled mine
Could teach or bribe me to define-
Nor Love-although the Love were thine.

Death was in that poisonous wave,

And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his lone imagining-
Whose solitary soul could make
An Eden of that dim lake.

The Women’s Ritual Council conducted vespers at church entitled The Day of the Dead, and
featured the music of flute, piano and bells and the reading of poems by Edgar Allen Poe. I wasn’t sure if
the vespers was to commemorate All Souls Day or All Saints Day, and so I sought clarification from a
website that stated that the Day of the Dead was: an annual celebration to honor the spirits of the
dead, observed in Mexico and other Latin American countries on November 1 and 2, concurrently with
All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day.

According to New Advent, the Catholic Encyclopedia, it was All Saints Day as it was November 1,
and All Souls Day is held on November 2, but vespers at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of
Fairfax are always held on Friday, and this is a doctrine to which we UUs adhere steadfastly.

New Advent states that All Saints’ Day is to honor all the saints, known and unknown, whereas
for All Souls’ Day,
 The theological basis [for All Souls Day] for the feast is the doctrine that the souls which,
on departing from the body, are not perfectly cleansed from venial sins, or have not fully
atoned for past transgressions, are debarred from the Beatific Vision, and that the faithful
on earth can help them by prayers, almsdeeds and especially by the sacrifice of the Mass.

I don’t believe that we helped any of these souls as no prayers were offered, no alms were
collected and no mass performed. Rather there was the creation of a solemn mood in which one was
made to ponder and feel the immanence of death as conveyed in the above poem. In past vespers, the
Women’s Ritual Council perform ancient myths of earth-centered religions, celebrating the Great
Goddess, which, while often include ritual sacrifice, views death as necessary for the fructifying of the
earth and a stage in the never ending cycle of birth, life, death and re-birth. No such equanimity here!
Morbid in outlook and tone, impending doom was the major theme.

The lights were dim in the sanctuary and an ‘altar’ had been installed below the dias that
featured familiar symbols that promote the contemplation of death: two burning candles, a skull, and a
mirror to cause one to reflect on one’s own demise. I couldn’t fathom the symbolic significance of a
bowl of cookies–ginger snaps, maybe–place in the forefront. No entry for ‘cookies’ in New Advent.

Poe’s alliteration and rhythm are so lyrical that one is enchanted–almost casting a spell as was
its intention. I was mostly content with listening rather nonchalantly–going with the flow for most of the
poems, but my ears perked with the recitation of the poem entitled, The Lake, probably because some
of my fondest memories are of lakes. I spent two summers in the Grand Teton National Park during my
college years, and I often hiked to Taggart Lake and slept under the stars. Usually I was accompanied,
but occasionally I went alone. I felt alone, but never lonely. I had this enchantment all to myself. I
would gaze about for hours, or until it became dark. And then I knew that I was not alone! It was a little
frightening to hear leaves rustle and a twig snap, but it was exhilarating to be with creatures of the
forest. I felt privileged to be in their domain.

The lake was indeed black–infinite. It was as though I were looking into the soul of the earth.
There was no terror. How could there be? It’s home.