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What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
Out of tune,
Oh, the bells, bells, bells !
What a horror they outpour
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the
Of the bells
Bells, bells, bells,
Hear the tolling of the bells
Iron bells !
What a world of solemn thought their monody
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
For every sound that floats
Is a groan.
In that muffled monotone,
On the human heart a stone-
They are Ghouls !
With the pæan of the bells !
Of the bells :
To the throbbing of the bells—
To the sobbing of the bells ;
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells—
To the tolling of the bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
EDGAR A. Poe.
TO MARY IN HEAVEN.
"HOU lingering star with lessening ray,
That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usherest in the day
My Mary from my soul was torn. Oh Mary! dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest ? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ?
That sacred hour can I forget !-
Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met
To live one day of parting love! Eternity will not efface
Those records dear of transports past ! Thy image at our last embrace
Ah! little thought we 'twas our last !
Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore,
O’erhung with wild woods, thickening green ; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Twined amorous round the raptured scene.
The flowers sprung wanton to be press'd,
The birds sung love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.
Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods, with miser care, Time but the impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary! dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest ? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast ?
“ THE NORTHERN STAR."
[A TYNEMOUTH SHIP.
VHE Northern Star
Sail'd over the bar,
For many an hour,
By the lighthouse rock I stray ;
Of him that is far away.
The castle's bound?
Amidst the grassy graves,
And all I see are the waves.
The Northern Star
Set in the Baltic Sea ;
love from me.
GOING TO THE WARRES.
ELL me not, Sweet, I am unkinde,
That from the Nunnerie
To Warre and Armes I Aie.
True, a new Mistresse now I chase,
The first Foe in the Field;
A Sword, a Horse, a Shield.
| The castle's bound— Tynemouth castle, the grounds of which are used as a cemetery, or were when this was written.