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

THE BELLS.

I.

FEAR the sledges with the bell

HEAR

Silver bells!

What a world of merriment their melody foretells.

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the tcy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight-
Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wel
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells

From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II.

Hear the mellow wedding bells-
Golden bells!

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells

Through the balmy air of night

How they ring out their delight!

From the molten-golden notes,
And all it tune,

What a liquid ditty floats

To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloat
On the moon!

Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells
How it swells!

How it dwells

On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, beils, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-

To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells.

III.

Hear the loud alarum bells

Brazen bells!

What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ' In the startled ear of Night

How they scream out their affright!

Too much horrified to speak,

They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,

In the 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 clamor and the clangor of the belis

IV.

Hear the tolling of the bells

iron pells!

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,

Rolls,

A pan from the bells!
And his merry bosom swelk
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 belle

THE

Sarah Helen Whitman.

SLEEPING

BEAUTY:

A TALE OF FORESTS AND ENCHANTMENTS DREAR.

"SISTER, 'tis the noon of night!—

Let us, in the web of chought,
Weave the threads of ancient song,
From the realms of Fairies brought.

"Thou shalt stain the dusky warp

In nightshade wet with twilight dew;
I, with streaks of morning gold,

Il Penserose

Will strike the fabric through and through."*

HERE a lone castle by the sea

WHE

Upreared its dark and mouldering pile.
Far seen, with all its frowning towers,

For many and many a weary mile,
The wild waves beat the castle walls,

And bathed the rock with ceaseless showers;
The winds roared fiercely round the pile,
And moaned along its mouldering towers.

Within those wide and echoing halls,
To guard her from a fatal spell,

A maid of noble lineage born

Was doomed in solitude to dwell.

Five fairies graced the infant's birth

With fame and beauty, wealth and power;

The sixth, by one fell stroke, reversed

The lavish splendours of her dower.

This is a joint production of Mrs. WHITMAN and her sister, Miss

POWER.