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 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 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 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,

A

Rolls

pæan from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells

With the pean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pean 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.

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE REGILLUS. (AN EXTRACT.)

*

But north looked the Dictator,

North looked he long and hard;

And spake to Caius Cossus,

The captain of his guard: "Caius, of all the Romans

Thou hast the keenest sight;

Say, what through yonder storm of dust
Comes from the Latian right?

Then answered Caius Cossus :
"I see an evil sight;
The banner of proud Tusculum
Comes from the Latian right;

I see the plumèd horsemen,
And far before the rest
I see the dark-grey charger,

I see the purple vest;

I see the golden helmet

That shines far off like flame;

So ever rides Mamilius,

Prince of the Latian name."

"Herminius, Aulus greets thee, He bids thee come with speed,

To help our central battle,

For sore is there our need. There wars the youngest Tarquin, And there the crest of flame,

The Tusculan Mamilius,

Prince of the Latian name.
Valerius hath fallen fighting
In front of our array,
And Aulus, of the seventy fields,
Alone upholds the day."

Herminius beat his bosom :

But never word he spake.

He clapped his hand on Auster's mane : He gave the reins a shake,

Right glad were all the Romans

Who, in that hour of dread,
Against great odds bore up the war
Around Valerius dead,

When from the south the cheering
Rose with a mighty swell;
"Herminius comes, Herminius,
Who kept the bridge so well!"

Mamilius spied Herminius,

And dashed across the way.
"Herminius, I have sought thee
Through many a bloody day.
One of us two, Herminius,
Shall never more go home.
I will lay on for Tusculum,
And lay thou on for Rome!"

All round them paused the battle,
While met in mortal fray

The Roman and the Tusculan,

The horses black and grey. Herminius smote Mamilius

Through breast-plate and through breast;

And fast flowed out the purple blood

Over the purple vest.

Mamilius smote Herminius

Through head-piece and through head; And side by side those chiefs of pride

Together fell down dead.