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And now, as the night was senescent

And star-dials pointed to morn

As the star-dials hinted of mornAt the end of our path a liquescent

And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent

Arose with a duplicate hornAstarte's bediamonded crescent

Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said—“She is warmer than Dian :

She rolls through an ether of sighs

She revels in a region of sighs :
She has seen that the tears are not dry on

These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion

To point us the path to the skies—

To the Lethean peace of the skies— Come up, in despite of the Lion,

To shine on us with her bright eyes-Come up through the lair of the Lion,

With love in her luminous eyes.”

But Psyche, uplifting her finger,

Said—“Sadly this star I mistrust

Her pallor I strangely mistrust :Oh, hasten !-oh, let us not linger!

Oh, fly !-let us fly!—for we must." In terror she spoke, letting sink her

Wings until they trailed in the dust-
In agony sobbed, letting sink her

Plumes till they trailed in the dust
Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

I replied—“This is nothing but dreaming :

Let us on by this tremulous light!
Let us bathe in this crystalline light!

Its Sybilic splendor is beaming

With Hope and in Beauty to-night :

See !-it flickers up the sky through the night! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,

And be sure it will lead us aright-
We safely may trust to a gleaming

That cannot but guide us aright,
Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.”

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,

And tempted her out of her gloom

And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista,

But were stopped by the door of a tomb

By the door of a legended tomb;
And I said—“ What is written, sweet sister,

On the door of this legended tomb ?”
She replied—“ Ulalume-Ulalume-
'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume !"

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober

As the leaves that were crisped and sere

As the leaves that were withering and sere,
And I cried—“It was surely October

On this very night of last year
That I journeyed-I journeyed down here-
That I brought a dread burden down here-
On this night of all nights in the year,

Ah, what demon has tempted me here?
Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber-

This misty mid region of Weir-
Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,

This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."



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 oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle

With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

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Hear the mellow wedding bells,

Golden bells !
What 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

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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 !

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 !



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


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

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