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,

A

Rolls,

pæan from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells

With the pæan of the bells!
And he dances and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the pæan 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.

EDGAR ALLAN POE

THOSE EVENING BELLS.

THOSE evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time
When last I heard their soothing chime!

Those joyous hours are passed away; And many a heart that then was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells.

And so 't will be when I am gone-
That tuneful peal will still ring on;
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells.

THOMAS MOORE

609

ALEXANDER'S FEAST;

OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC.-AN ODE IN HONOR OF ST. CECILIA'S DAY.

'T was at the royal feast for Persia won

By Philip's warlike son:

Aloft, in awful state,

The godlike hero sate

On his imperial throne;

His valiant peers were placed around,

Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound;

(So should desert in arms be crowned);
The lovely Thais by his side
Sate, like a blooming eastern bride,
In flower of youth and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair!
None but the brave,
None but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair.

CHORUS.

Happy, happy, happy pair!
None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair.

Timotheus, placed on high

Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touched the lyre;
The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heavenly joys inspire.

The song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful seats above,
(Such is the power of mighty Love).
A dragon's fiery form belied the god;
Sublime on radiant spires he rode,

When he to fair Olympia pressed,
And while he sought her snowy breast;
Then, round her slender waist he curled,
And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign
of the world.

The listening crowd admire the lofty sound-
A present deity! they shout around;
A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound.
With ravished ears

The monarch hears,

Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

CHORUS.

With ravished ears
The monarch hears,
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musi cian sung

Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young; The jolly god in triumph comes: Sound the trumpets; beat the drums! Flushed with a purple grace,

He shows his honest face; Now give the hautboys breath-he comes, he comes!

Bacchus, ever fair and young,

Drinking joys did first ordain;
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure;
Drinking is the soldiers' pleasure:
Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.

CHORUS.

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure; Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure; Sweet is pleasure after pain.

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain; Fought all his battles o'er again;

And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain.

The master saw the madness rise-
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And, while he Heaven and Earth defied,
Changed his hand, and checked his pride.
He chose a mournful Muse,
Soft pity to infuse,
He sung Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen-
Fallen from his high estate,

And weltering in his blood;
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth exposed he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
With downcast looks the joyless victor sate

Revolving in his altered soul

The various turns of chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole; And tears began to flow.

CHORUS.

Revolving in his altered soul

The various turns of chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole; And tears began to flow.

The mighty master smiled, to see
That Love was in the next degree;
'T was but a kindred sound to move,
For pity melts the mind to love.

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures.
War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honor but an empty bubble-

Never ending, still beginning-
Fighting still, and still destroying;
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O think it worth enjoying!

Lovely Thais sits beside thee

Take the goods the gods provide thee. The many rend the sky with loud applause; So Love was crowned, but Music won the

cause.

The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazed on the fair

Who caused his care,

And sighed and locked, sighed and looked, Sighed and looked, and sighed again.

At length, with love and wine at once oppressed,

The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast.

CHORUS.

The prince unable to conceal his pain,

Gazed on the fair

Who caused his care,

Hark, hark! the horrid sound

Has raised up his head!
As awaked from the dead,
And amazed, he stares around.
Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries;
See the Furies arise!

See the snakes that they rear,

How they hiss in their hair,

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!

Behold a ghastly band,

Each a torch in his hand!

Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,

And unburied remain,
Inglorious, on the plain!
Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew.

Behold how they toss their torches on

Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, While organs yet were muteTimotheus, to his breathing flute, And sounding lyre,

Sighed and looked, and sighed again.

At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast.

Now strike the golden lyre again-
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain!
Break his bands of sleep asunder,

And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder.

desire.

At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame;

The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
Enlarged the former narrow bounds,

And added length to solemn sounds,

With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown

before.

Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown; He raised a mortal to the skiesShe drew an angel down.

THE PASSIONS.

AN ODE FOR MUSIC.

611

WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Thronged around her magic cell--
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting-
Possest beyond the Muse's painting;
By turns they felt the giowing mind
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined;
Till once, 't is said, when all were fired,
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatched her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for Madness ruled the hour)
Would prove his own expressive power.

First Fear his hand, its skill to try,

Amid the chords bewildered laid, And back recoiled, he knew not why, E'en at the sound himself had made.

Next Anger rushed; his eyes, on fire,
In lightnings owned his secret stings:
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the strings.

With woful measures wan Despair,
Low, sullen sounds, his grief beguiled-
A solemn, strange, and mingled air;
'T was sad by fits, by starts 't was wild.

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair-
What was thy delightful measure ?
Still it whispered promised pleasure,

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!

Still would her touch the strain prolong;

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She called on Echo still, through all the song;

And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close;

And Hope enchanted, smiled, and waved

her golden hair.

frown,

Revenge impatient rose;

He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down;

And, with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe!

And, ever and anon, he beat

The doubling drum, with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between,

Dejected Pity, at his side,

Her soul-subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mein, While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head.

eyed Queen,

Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green; Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear;

And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear.

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial:
He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best;

They would have thought, who heard the strain,

They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades,

To some unwearied minstrel dancing,

fixed

Sad proof of thy distressful state;

Of differing themes the veering song was mixed;

And now it courted Love-now, raving, called on Hate.

With eyes upraised, as one inspired,
Pale Melancholy sate retired;
And, from her wild sequestered seat,
In notes by distance made more sweet,
Poured through the mellow horn her pen-
sive soul;

And, dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels joined the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole;

Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay,

Round an holy calm diffusing,

Love of Peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away.

But O! how altered was its sprightlier tone When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,

Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket

rung

The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known!

Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round: Loose were her tresses seen, her zone un. bound;

And he, amidst his frolic play,
As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings.

O Music! sphere-descended maid,
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid!
Why, goddess! why, to us denied,
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside?
As, in that loved Athenian bower,
You learned an all commanding power,
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endeared,
Can well recall what then it heard;
Where is thy native simple heart,
Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art?
Arise, as in that elder time,
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime!
Thy wonders, in that godlike age,
Fill thy recording sister's page;
'Tis said-and I believe the tale-
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age--
E'en all at once together found-
Cecilia's mingled world of sound.
O bid our vain endeavors cease;
Revive the just designs of Greece!
Return in all thy simple state-
Confirm the tales her sons relate!

WILLIAM COLLINE.