Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells 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: 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! 69 Hear the tolling of the bells- What a world of solemn thought their monody 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. The Bells And the people-ah, the people- And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stoneThey are neither man nor woman— They are neither brute nor humanThey are Ghouls: And their king it is who tolls; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A pæan from the bells! Keeping time, time, time, 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, bells Bells, bells, bells To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 113 1849. Edgar Allan Poe. THE BELLS OF SHANDON WITH deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon bells, On this I ponder And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee; With thy bells of Shandon, I've heard bells chiming Tolling sublime in Cathedral shrine, While at a glib rate Brass tongues would vibrate 16 The Bells of Shandon Spoke naught like thine; Its bold notes free, Made the bells of Shandon I've heard bells tolling Of Notre Dame; But thy sounds were sweeter Flings o'er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly,- Of the River Lee. There's a bell in Moscow, While on tower and kiosk O! In Saint Sophia The Turkman gets, THE day is done, and the darkness I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. 8 12 |