The Bells

Hear the sledges with the bells—Silver bells!What a world of merriment their melody foretells!How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,In the icy air of night!While the stars that oversprinkleAll the heavens, seem to twinkleWith a crystalline delight;Keeping time, time, time,In a sort of Runic rhyme,To the tintinabulation that so musically wellsFrom the bells, bells, bells, bells,Bells, bells, bells—From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

Hear the mellow wedding bells,Golden bells!What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!Through the balmy air of nightHow they ring out their delight!From the molten-golden notes,And all in tune,What a liquid ditty floatsTo the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloatsOn the moon!Oh, from out the sounding cells,What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!How it swells!How it dwellsOn the Future! how it tellsOf the rapture that impelsTo the swinging and the ringingOf the bells, bells, bells,Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,Bells, bells, bells—To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

Hear the loud alarum bells—Brazen bells!What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!In the startled ear of nightHow 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 tellsOf Despair!How they clang, and clash, and roar!What a horror they outpourOn the besom 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!

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 affrightAt the melancholy menace of their tone!For every sound that floatsFrom the rust within their throatsIs 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 rollingOn 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,RollsA pæan from the bells!And his merry bosom swellsWith 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 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.