What a world of merriment their melody foretells! In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. Hear the mellow wedding-bells, What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats Oh, from out the sounding cells, How it swells! How it dwells 296 THE BELLS. On the Future! how it tells Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! Hear the loud alarum bells Brazen bells! What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells! How they scream out their affright! They can only shriek, shriek, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, And a resolute endeavor, 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 How they clang, and clash, and roar On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging THE BELLS. How the danger ebbs and flows; And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, 297 y the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells Of the bells Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! Hear the tolling of the bells What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! In the silence of the night At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats, And the people - ah, the people - And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone 298 THE BELLS. And their king it is who tolls; Rolls a pæan from the bells! Keeping time, time, time, To the throbbing of the bells Of the bells, bells, bells, To the sobbing of the bells; To the tolling of the bells, Bells, bells, bells, To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. RAIN IN SUMMER. 299 RAIN IN SUMMER. LONGFELLOW. How beautiful is the rain! How beautiful is the rain! How it clatters along the roofs, Like the tramp of hoofs ! How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout! Across the window-pane It pours and pours; And swift and wide, With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain! The sick man from his chamber looks At the twisted brooks; He can feel the cool Breath of each little pool; His fevered brain Grows calm again, And he breathes a blessing on the rain. From the neighboring school Come the boys, |