Impartiality - Free Audiobook

THE BELLS

               Hear the sledges with the bells—
                     Silver bells!
          What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
               How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
                    In the icy 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 wells
               From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
                    Bells, bells, bells—
          From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

               Hear the mellow wedding bells,
                         Golden bells!
          What a world of happiness their harmony foretell:
               Through the balmy air of night
               How they ring out their delight!
                 From the molten-golden notes,
                    And all in tune,
               What a liquid ditty floats,
          To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
                    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, bells, bells, 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!
               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 a 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 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
                         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, belts, bells—
          In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

               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 or woman—
          They are neither brute nor human—
                    They are Ghouls:—
               And their king it is who tolls:—
               And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
                    Rolls
               A paean from the bells!
               And his merry bosom swells
                 With the paean of the bells!
               And he dances, and he yells;
               Keeping time, time, time,
               In a sort of Runic rhyme,
               To the paean 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 bells.