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By the fide of the pale-faced moon
Oh the bells, bells, bells!
How they clang and clash and roar !
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger finks and swells, By the finking or the swelling in the the bells
Of the bells
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
Hear the tolling of the bells
What a world of solemn thought their monody
In the filence of the night,
How we fhiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
From the ruft within their throats
And the people-ah the people-
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone-
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
A pean from the bells!
With the pean of the bells!
Keeping time, time, time,
To the sobbing of the bells;
As he knells, knells, knells,
To the rolling of the bells-
To the tolling of the bells,
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
Edgar A. Poe.