For sale by Veery Books:

Wood, Charles B., III, History, Technology, and Art of the Book in the 19th Century; Catalogue 93 Wood, Charles B., III, History, Technology, and Art of the Book in the 19th Century; Catalogue 93 Wood, Charles B., III, History, Technology, and Art of the Book in the 19th Century; Catalogue 93
• Wood, Charles B., III
  History, Technology, and Art of the Book in the 19th Century; Catalogue 93
  Charles B. Wood, III, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1997, Wraps, , , Very Good
  
  

  86 pp. 210 items. Small chips at top and bottom of spine, probably from folding machine. A small smudge on front wraps, else fine. Illustrated with 16 pages of hors-text black and white plates. Fascinating detailed descriptions.

  
  Price: $9.97
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The American Language Reprint Series

The American Language Reprint (ALR) series aims to compile the various word-lists, vocabularies and phrase books which were collected in the early years of North American settlement. The series begins with the languages and dialects of the Eastern Woodlands, with a primary emphasis on the Eastern Algonquian and Iroquoian families. We hope to progressively extend the geographical scope of the project to form a comprehensive linguistic record of native North America prior to the advent of modern linguistics.

POE’S COTTAGE AT FORDHAM.

HERE lived the soul enchanted
  By melody of song;
Here dwelt the spirit haunted
  By a demoniac throng;
Here sang the lips elated;
Here grief and death were sated;
Here loved and here unmated
  Was he, so frail, so strong.
	
Here wintry winds and cheerless
  The dying firelight blew
While he whose song was peerless
  Dreamed the drear midnight through,
And from dull embers chilling
Crept shadows darkly filling
The silent place, and thrilling
  His fancy as they grew.

Here, with brow bared to heaven,
  In starry night he stood,
With the lost star of seven
  Feeling sad brotherhood.
Here in the sobbing showers
Of dark autumnal hours
He heard suspected powers
  Shriek through the stormy wood.

From visions of Apollo
  And of Astarte’s bliss,
He gazed into the hollow
  And hopeless vale of Dis;
And though earth were surrounded
lily heaven, it still was mounded
With graves. His soul had sounded
  The dolorous abyss.

Proud, mad, but not defiant,
  He touched at heaven and bell.
Fate found a rare soul pliant
  And rung her changes well.
Alternately his lyre,
Stranded with strings of fire,
Led earth’s most happy choir
  Or flashed with Israfel.

No singer of old story
  Luting accustomed lays,
No harper for new glory,
  No mendicant for praise, 
He struck high chords and splendid,
Wherein were fiercely blended
Tones that unfinished ended
With his unfinished days.
  Here through this lowly portal,

Made sacred by his name,
  Unheralded immortal
The mortal went and came.
  And fate that then denied him,
And envy that decried him,
And malice that belied him,
  Have cenotaphed his fame.