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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.


“ SELDOM we find,” says Solomon Don Dunce,

Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once

As easily as through a Naples bonnet

Trash of all trash !-how can a lady don it ? Yet heavier far than your

Petrarchan stuffOwl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff

Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it." And, veritably, Sol is right enough. The general tuckermanities are arrant Bubbles—ephemeral and so transparent

But this is, now,-you may depend upon itStable, opaque, immortal-all by dint Of the dear names that lie concealed within 't.

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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 loveI and


ANNABEL LEE; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.


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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 niy 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 the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling—my darling-my life and my bride,

In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.


BECAUSE I feel that, in the Heavens above,

The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,

None so devotional as that of “Mother,"
Therefore by that dear name I long have called you-

You who are more than mother unto me,
And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you

In setting my Virginia's spirit free.
My mother-my own mother, who died early,

Was but the mother of myself; but you
Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,

And thus are dearer than the mother I knew By that infinity with which my wife

Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.



In the greenest of our valleys

By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace

Radiant palace-reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion

It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion

Over fabric half so fair !

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,

On its roof did float and flow,
(This all this-was in the olden

Time long ago,)
And every gentle air that dallied,

In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,

A wingéd odour went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,

Through two luminous windows, saw Spirits moving musically,

To a lute's well-tuned law,
Round about a throne where, sitting

(Porphyrogene !)
In stute his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
VOL. II.-3.


And all with pearl and ruby glowing

Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,

And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty

Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,

The wit and wisdom of their king.

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