In the jangling And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells,— In the clamor and the clangor of the 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! From the rust within their throats, Is a groan. And the people-ah! the people!- And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone: And their king it is who tolls; A pæan from the bells! In a sort of Runic rhyme, As he knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells, To the tolling of the bells, To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. Ex. CXXVIII.-THE MOSQUITO. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. FAIR insect! that, with thread-like legs spread out, In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing, Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse, Full angrily men hearken to thy plaint; I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween, Thou comest from Jersey meadows, fresh and green, The ocean-nymph that nursed thy infancy. Beneath the rushes was thy cradle swung, And when, at length, thy gauzy wings grew strong, Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung, Rose in the sky, and bore thee soft along; The south wind breathed to waft thee on thy way, Calm rose afar the city spires, and thence And as its grateful odors met thy sense, They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen. Fair lay its crowded streets, and at the sight Thy tiny song grew shriller with delight. At length thy pinion fluttered in Broadway Ah, there were fairy steps, and white necks kissed By wanton airs, and eyes whose killing ray Shone through the snowy vails like stars through mist; And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin, Bloomed the bright blood through the transparent skin. 6. A Afrungs Sure these were sights to tempt an anchorite! What say'st thou, slanderer!-rouge makes thee sick? And Rowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick, Poisons the thirsty wretch that bores for blood? That bloom was made to look at-not to touch; Thou 'rt welcome to the town-but why come here Alas! the little blood I have is dear, And thin will be the banquet drawn from me. Try some plump alderman, and suck the blood There corks are drawn, and the red vintage flows, Shall tempt thee, as thou flittest round the brow; Ex. CXXIX.-RUM'S MANIA C. WHY am I thus? the maniac cried, Sane? yes, and have been all the while; 'Tis he! 'tis he! my aged sire! What has disturbed thee in thy grave? Why bend on me that eye of fire? Why torment, since thou canst not save? Back to the church-yard whence you've come! O, send me rum! Why is my mother musing there, Where once she taught me words of prayer? Mute in her winding-sheet she stands; She's vanished; but a dearer friend, His hours of misery to beguile; Haste! haste! loved one, and set me free; She does not hear; away she flies, To dwell with kindred spirits there. DR. NOTT. Why has she gone? O God, I'm ruined! Why did she come? O, give me rum! Hark! hark! for bread my children cry, O give me back the drunkard's cup ! My lips are parched, my heart is sad; This cursed chain! 't will make me mad'T will make me mad! It wont wash out, that crimson stain! I've scoured those spots, and made them white; Blood reappears again, again, Soon as the morning brings the light! When from my sleepless couch I come, 'Twas there I heard his piteous cry, Hark! still I hear that piteous wail; Guard, guard those windows! bar that door! They 've robbed my house of all its store, I stake again? not I; no more, |