Selections from Poe. Edgar Allan Poe

a world of happiness their harmony foretells!

      Through the balmy air of night

      How they ring out their delight!

      From the molten-golden notes,

      And all in tune,

      What a liquid ditty floats

      To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats

      On the moon!

      Oh, from out the sounding cells,

      What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!

      How it swells!

      How it dwells

      On the Future! how it tells

      Of the rapture that impels

      To the swinging and the ringing

      Of the bells, bells, bells,

      Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

      Bells, bells, bells —

      To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

      III

      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 endeavor

      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 clamor and the clangor of the bells!

      IV

      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,

      Rolls

      A pæan 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 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.

      ANNABEL LEE

      It was many and many a year ago,

        In a kingdom by the sea,

      That a maiden there lived whom you may know

        By the name of Annabel Lee;

      And this maiden she lived with no other thought

        Than to love and be loved by me.

      I was a child and she was a child,

        In this kingdom by the sea,

      But we loved with a love that was more than love,

        I and my Annabel Lee;

      With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

        Coveted her and me.

      And this was the reason that, long ago,

        In this kingdom by the sea,

      A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

        My beautiful Annabel Lee;

      So that her highborn kinsmen came

        And bore her away from me,

      To shut her up in a sepulchre

        In this kingdom by the sea.

      The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

        Went envying her and me;

      Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,

        In this kingdom by the sea)

      That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

        Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

      But our love it was stronger by far than the love

        Of those who were older than we,

        Of many far wiser than we;

      And neither the angels in heaven above,

        Nor the demons down under the sea,

      Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

        Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:

      For