Hear the loud alarum-bells

Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells !

In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!

Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,

Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire.

Leaping higher, higher, higher,

With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavour

Now, now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.

Oh, the bells, bells, bells !
What a tale their terror tells

Of despair!
How they clang, and clash, 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 distinctly tells,

In the jangling

And the wrangling,

How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-

Of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells—
In the clamour and the clangour of the bells !

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Hear the tolling of the bells

Iron bells ! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels !

In the silence of the night,

How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!

For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats

Is a groan.
And the people—ah, the people
They that dwell up in the steeple,

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,


from the bells;
And his merry bosom swells

With the pæan of the bells;
And he dances and he yells ;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pæan 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 tolling 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.


How does the Water Come down at Lodore ?'

My little boy asked me

Thus, once on a time; And moreover he tasked me

To tell him in rhyme.

Anon, at the word, There first came one daughter

And then came another,

To second and third
The request of their brother,
And to hear how the Water

Comes down at Lodore,
With its rush and its roar,

As many a time
They had seen it before.

So I told them in rhyme,
For of rhymes I had store ;

And 'twas in my vocation
For their recreation

That so I should sing,
Because I was Laureate

To them and the King.
From its sources which well
In the Tarn on the fell;

From its fountains

In the mountains,
Its rills and its gills;
Through moss and through brako,



It runs and it creeps

For awhile, till it sleeps
In its own little Lake.

And thence at departing,
Awakening and starting,
It runs through the reeds,
And away it proceeds,
Through meadow and glade,
In sun and in shade,
And through the wood-shelter,
Among crags in its flurry,


Here it comes sparkling,
And there it lies darkling ;
Now smoking and frothing
Its tumult and wrath in,
Till in this rapid race

On which it is bent,
It reaches the place

Of its steep descent.
The Cataract strong
Then plunges along,
Striking and raging

As if a war waging
Its caverns and rocks among :

Rising and leaping,
Sinking and creeping,
Swelling and sweeping,
Showering and springing,
Flying and flinging,
Writhing and ringing,
Eddying and whisking,
Spouting and frisking,
Turning and twisting,
Around and around
With endless rebound !
Smiting and fighting,
A sight to delight in;

Confounding, astounding,
Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound.

Collecting, projecting,
Receding and speeding,
And shocking and rocking,
And darting and parting,
And threading and spreading,
And whizzing and hissing,
And dripping and skipping,
And hitting and splitting,
And shining and twining,
And rattling and battling,
And shaking and quaking,
And pouring and roaring,
And waving and raving,
And tossing and crossing,
And flowing and going,
And running and stunning,
And foaming and roaming,
And dinning and spinning,
And dropping and hopping,
And working and jerking,
And guggling and struggling,
And heaving and cleaving,
And moaning and groaning;
And glittering and frittering,
And gathering and feathering,
And whitening and brightening,
And quivering and shivering,
And hurrying and skurrying,

And thundering and floundering;
Dividing and gliding and sliding,
And falling and brawling and sprawling,
And driving and riving and striving,
And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling,
And sounding and bounding and rounding,
And bubbling and troubling and doubling,
And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,

And clattering and battering and shattering; Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting, Delaying and straying and playing and spraying, Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing, Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiliny,

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