Bells, bells, bells, bells, In the clamour and the clangour of the bells! Hear the tolling of the bells- What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! 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- And who tolling, tolling, tolling, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone- They are neither man nor woman- And their king it is who tolls; Rolls A pæan from the bells! With the pean of the bells! To the pean of the bells- Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing 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. "And whatna hauld sall we draw to, My merry men and me? We will gae to the house of Rodes, To see that fair ladye.” She had nae sooner buskit hersel', Till Edom o' Gordon and his men They had nae sooner sitten doun, Till Edom o' Gordon and his men The ladye ran up to her touir heid, As sune as he saw the ladye fair, "Come down to me, ye ladye fair, "I winna come down, ye fause Gordon; I winna come doun to thee; I winna forsake my ain deir lord, That is sae far frae me." "Gie up your house, ye fair ladye, Gie up your house to me; Or I will burn yoursel' therein, "I winna gie 't up, thou fause Gordon, Though thou suld burn mysel' therein, "Set fire to the house," quoth fause Gordon, "Sin' better may na be; And I will burn hersel' therein, But and her babies thrie." "And ein wae worth ye, Jock, my man: I paid ye weil your fee; Why pu ye oot my grund-wa-stane, "And ein wae worth ye, Jock, my man! I paid you weil your hyre; Why pu you oot my grund-wa-stane, "Ye paid me well my hire, lady, Ye paid me well my fee; But now I'm Edom of Gordon's man Maun either do or die." Oh then bespake her youngest son, Sat on the nurse's knee, "Dear mother, gie ower your house," he says, 66 For the reek it worries me." |