How the danger ebbs and flows; And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells- Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! 4. Hear the tolling of the bells Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody' compels ! How we shiver with affright At the měl'ancholy menace of their tōne! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people-ah, the people- And who tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone- And their king it is who tōlls; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls, 3 A pæan from the bells! And his merry bosom swells 1 Mon' o dy, a species of poem of a mournful character, in which a single mourner is supposed to bewail himself. 2 Ghoul (gól), an imaginary evil being among Eastern nations, which was supposed to prey upon human bodies. Pæ'an, among the ancients, a song of rejoicing in honor of Apollo; hence, a loud and joyous song; a song of triumph. And he dances and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, To the throbbing of the bells- To the sobbing of the bells; As he knells, knells, knells, 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. EDGAR A. POE, born in Baltimore, in January, 1811, was left an orphan by the death of his parents at Richmond, in 1815. He was adopted by John Allen, a wealthy merchant of Virginia, who in the following year took him to England, and placed him at a school near London, from which, in 1822, he was removed to the University of Virginia, where he graduated with distinction in 1826. While at the Military Academy at West Point, in 1830, he published his first work, a small volume of poems. He secured prizes for a poem and a tale at Baltimore, in 1833; in 1835 he was employed to assist in editing "The Southern Literary Gazette," at Richmond; in 1838 he removed to Philadelphia, where he was connected as editor with Burton's Magazine one year, and with Graham's a year and a half; and subsequently, while in that city, published several volumes of tales, besides many of his finest criticisms, tales, and poems, in periodicals. He went to New York in 1844, where he wrote several months for the "Evening Mirror." In 1845 appeared his very popular poem of "The Raven," and the same year he aided in establishing the "Broadway Journal," of which he was afterward the sole editor. His wife, to whom he had been married about twelve years, died in the spring of 1849. In the summer of that year he returned to Virginia, where it was supposed he had mastered his previous habits of dissipation; but he died from his excesses, at Baltimore, on the seventh of October, at the age of thirty-eight years. In poetry, as in prose, he was eminently successful in the metaphysical treatment of the passions. He had a great deal of imag ination and fancy, and his mind was highly analytical. His poems are constructed with wonderful ingenuity, and finished with consummate art. II. 180. THE CRY OF THE HUMAN. HERE is no God,' the foolish saith, 'THE But none, 'There is no sorrōw;' And nature oft, the cry of faith, In bitter need will borrow : Eyes which the preacher could not school, And lips say, 'God be pitiful,' Who ne'er said, 'God be praised.' Be pitiful, O God! 2. The tempèst stretches from the steep The beasts grow tame, and near us creep, Yet, while the cloud-wheels roll and grind The hills have echoes; but we find No answer for the thunder. Be pitiful, O God! 3. The battle hurtles' on the plains- Then kill, curse on, by that same sign, Clay, clay-and spirit, spirit. Be pitiful, O God! 4. The plague runs festering through the town, And corpses, jostled 'neath the moon, The young child callèth for the cup— 1 Hurtle (her'tl), to make a clashing, terrifying, or threatening sound; to resound. The mother from her babe looks up, And shrieks away its sleeping. Be pitiful, O God! 5. The plague of gold strikes far and near, And deep and strong it enters : This purple simar' which we wear, Our thoughts grow blank, our words grow strange; Each soul is worth so much on 'Change, And marked, like sheep, with figures. Be pitiful, O God! 6. The curse of gold upon the land, The lack of bread enforces The rail-cars snort from strand to strand, The poor die mute-with starving gaze Be pitiful, O God! 7. We meet together at the feast— Be pitiful, O God! 8. We sit together, with the skies, The steadfast skies, above us: Simar (så mår'), a kind of long gown or robe. 2 Centaur, a fabulous being, supposed to be half man and half horse, represented in ancient works of art you as man from the head to the loins, the remainder of the body being that of a horse with its four feet and tail; also, as here used, a bullkiller. The eyes grow dim with prophecy, The voices, low and breathless- Be pitiful, dear God! 9. We tremble by the harmlèss bed Be pitiful, O God! 10. The happy children come to us, They ask us-Was it thus, and thus, And feel our mother's smile press through Be pitiful, O God! 11. We pray together at the kirk, The corpse is calm below our knee Its spirit, bright before Thee- Without the rest of glory! Be pitiful, O God! 12. We leave the communing of men, The murmur of the passions; And live alone, to live again Are we so brave?—The sea and sky |