Does not this explain why the Raven—though not, like the Owl, a night-bird—should be represented as attracted by the lighted window, and, perching "upon the bust of Pallas," which would be more appropriate to the original Owl, Minerva's bird? Also, we recognize the latter in the lines:
"By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore."[9]
Poe, in adopting the Raven, evidently did not obliterate all traces of the Owl.
Of these troubles with the poem he had before informed me, and now, in answer to a remark of mine, he said, in effect:
"The Raven was never completed. It was published before I had given the final touches. There were in it certain knotty points and tangles which I had never been able to overcome, and I let it go as it was."
He told how, toward the last, he had become heartily tired of and disgusted with the poem, of which he had so poor an opinion that he was many times on the point of destroying it. I believe that his having published it under the nom de plume of "Quarles" was owing to this lack of confidence in it, and that had it proven a failure he would never have acknowledged himself the author. He feared to risk his literary reputation on what appeared to him of such uncertain merit.
He now, in speaking of the poem, regretted that he had not fully completed before publishing it.
"If I had a copy of it here," he said, "I could show you those knotty points of which I spoke, and which I have found it impossible to do away with," adding: "Perhaps you will help me. I am sure that you can, if you will."
I did not feel particularly flattered by this proposal, knowing that since his coming to Richmond he had made a similar request of at least two other persons. However, I cleared the table of the fruit and the flowers and placed before him several sheets of generous foolscap, on which I had copied for a friend The Raven as it was first published. He requested me to read it aloud, and as I did so, slowly and carefully, he sat, pencil in hand, ready to mark the difficult passages of which he had spoken.
I paused at the third line. Had I not myself often noted the incongruity of representing the poet as pondering over many a volume instead of a single one? I glanced inquiringly at Mr. Poe and, noting his unconscious look, proceeded. When I reached the line,