Of the bells Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells In the clamour and the clangour of the bells ! IV. 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— And his merry bosom swells With the pean of the bells! In a sort of Runic rhyme, 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. Lo! 'tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre, to see A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things |