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By the fide of the pale-faced moon—
Oh the bells, bells, bells!

What a tale their terror tells

Of Despair!

How they clang and clafh and roar !
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!

Yet the ear it fully knows,

By the twanging,

And the clanging,

How the danger ebbs and flows;

Yet the ear diftinctly tells

In the jangling,

And the wrangling,

How the danger finks and swells,

By the finking or the swelling in the anger of

the bells

Of the bells

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells

In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

Hear the tolling of the bells

Iron bells!

What a world of solemn thought their monody compels !

In the filence of the night,

How we shiver with affright

At the melancholy menace of their tone!

For every sound that floats

From the ruft within their throats

Is a groan

And the people-ah the people

They that dwell up in the fteeple,
All alone,

And who tolling, tolling, tolling,

In that muffled monotone,

Feel a glory in so rolling

On the human heart a stone

They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls :

And their king it is who tolls;

And he rolls, rolls, rolls,

Rolls,

..

A pean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the pean of the bells!
And he dances and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pean of the bells-
Of the bells:

Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the throbbing of the bells

Of the bells, bells, bells,—

To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,

In a happy Runic rhyme,

To the rolling of the bells

Of the bells, bells, bells

To the tolling of the bells,

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,—

Bells, bells, bells,

To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Edgar A. Poe.

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Hover downward !

Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and Clafhing, clanging, to the pavement Hurl them from their windy tower!

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