I've heard bells chiming

Full many a clime in,

Tolling sublime in

Cathedral shrine; While at a glib rate Brass tongues would vibrate But all their music

Spoke naught like thine.

For memory, dwelling
On each proud swelling
Of thy belfry, knelling

Its bold notes free,
Made the bells of Shandon
Sound far more grand, on

The pleasant waters
Of the river Lee.

I've heard bells tolling
Old Adrian's Mole in,
Their thunder rolling

From the Vatican;
And cymbals glorious
Swinging uproarious
In the gorgeous turrets

Of Notre Dame ;

H'

EAR 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 foretells!
Through the balmy air of night

They are ghouls;

And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls,

A paan from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells

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 bellsOf 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 A. Poe.

SOME

OME one has gone from this strange world
of ours,

No more to gather its thorns with its flowers;
No more to linger where sunbeams must fade,
Where on all beauty death's fingers are laid;
Weary with mingling life's bitter and sweet,
Weary with parting and never to meet,

Some one has gone to the bright golden shore; Ring the bell softly, there's crape on the door! Ring the bell softly, there's crape on the door!

Some one is resting from sorrow and sin, Happy where earth's conflicts enter not inJoyous as birds when the morning is bright,

[light.

When the sweet sunbeams have brought us their
Weary with sowing and never to reap,
Weary with labor, and welcoming sleep,
Some one's departed to heaven's bright shore;
Ring the bell softly, there's crape on the door!
Ring the bell softly, there's crape on the door!

Angels were anxiously longing to meet

One who walks with them in heaven's bright street;

Loved ones have whispered that some one is blest,
Free from earth's trials and taking sweet rest.
Yes! there is one more in angelic bliss,—
One less to cherish and one less to kiss:
One more departed to heaven's bright shore;
Ring the bell softly, there's crape on the door!
Ring the bell softly, there's crape on the door!
-Dexter Smith.

Ο

NCE upon a midnight dreary,

While I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious

Volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, Suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping,

Rapping at my chamber door.
""Tis some visitor," I muttered,
"Tapping at my chamber door-
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember,
It was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember
Wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;
Vainly I tried to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow-
Sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden
Whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain
Ruffling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic

Terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating Of my heart, I stood repeating "Tis some visitor entreating

Entrance at my chamber doorSome late visitor entreating

Entrance at my chamber door;This it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger; Hesitating then no longer,

"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly
Your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping,
And so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping—
Tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you;”-
Here I opened wide the door:
Darkness there, and nothing more!

Deep into the darkness peering,
Long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal
Ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken,
And the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken

Was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo

Murmered back the word, "Lenore!"
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me

burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before.

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window-lattice;

Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery ex

plore

Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore:

'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open then I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped

or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door,

Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebon bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it

wore,

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said,

"art sure no craven;

Ghastly grim and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore,

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore?"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such a name as "Nevermore!"

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered, -not a feather then he fluttered,

Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before,

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."

Then the bird said, "Nevermore!"

But the raven still beguiling

All my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in
Front of bird and bust and door.
Then upon the velvet sinking,

I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking

What this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly,
Gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
Thus I sat engaged in guessing,
But no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now
Burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining,
With my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining
That the lamplight gloated o'er;
But whose velvet violet lining

With the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought, the air grew denser,
Perfumed from an unseen censer,

Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls Tinkled on the tufted floor.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee,
By these angels he hath sent thee
Respite-respite and nepenthe

From thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe
And forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"
"Prophet," said I, "thing of evil!—
Prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent. or whether

Tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted,
On this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted-
Tell me truly, I implore-

Is there is there balm in Gilead?
Tell me tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet," said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if .

bird or devil!—

By that heaven that bends above us,-by that God we

both adore,

Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant

Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore!

Clasp a fair and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore!"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting,

"Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian shore,

Leave no black plume as a token of the lie thy soul hath spoken! [my door! Leave my loneliness unbroken!-quit the bust above

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form off my door!"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermɔre."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting [door; On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,

And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; [the floor And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on Shall be lifted--nevermore!

-Edgar Allen Poe.

D

ONG-Dong-the bells rang out

Over the housetops; and then a shout
Of "Fire!" came echoing up the street,
With the sound of eager, hurrying feet.
Dong-Dong- the sonorous peal

Came mingled with the clatter of engine wheel
And whistle shrill, and horse's hoof;
And lo! from the summit of yonder roof
A flame bursts forth with sudden glare.
Dong-Dong-on the midnight air

The sound goes ringing out over the town;
And hundreds already are hurrying down,
Through the narrow streets, with breathless speed,
Following whither the engines lead.
Dong-Dong-and from windows high
Startled ones peer at the ruddy sky,
And still the warning loud doth swell

From the brazen throat of the iron-tongued bell,
Sending a shudder, and sending a start
To many a home, and many a heart
Up in yon tenement, where the glare
Shines dimly forth on the starlit air

Through dingy windows; where flames and smoke
Already begin to singe and choke,

See the affrighted ones look out

In helpless terror, in horrible doubt,
Begging for succor. Now behold

The ladders. by arms so stroug and bold,
Are reared; like squirrels the brave men climb
To the topmost story. Indeed 'twere time-
"They all are saved!" said a voice below,
And a shout of triumph went up. But no-
"Not all-ah, no!"-'twas a mother's shriek,
The cry of a woman, agonized, weak,

Yet nerved to strength by her deep woe's power,
"Great God, my child!"—even strong men cower
'Neath such a cry. "Oh, save my child!"
She screamed in accents sorrowful, wild.
Up the ladders, a dozen men
Rushed in generous rivalry then
Bravely facing a terrible fate.
Breathless the crowd below await.
See! There's one who has gained the sill
Of yonder window. Now, with a will,
He bursts the sash with his steady blow;
And it rattles down on the pave below.
Now he has disappeared from sight-
Faces below are ashen and white,
In that terrible moment. Then a cry
Of joy goes up to the flame-lit sky—
Goes up to welcome him back to life.
God help him now in his terrible strife!
Once more he mounts the giddy sill,
Cool and steady and fearless still:
Once more he grasps the ladder-see!
What is it he holds so tenderly?
Thousands of tearful, upturned eyes
Are watching him now; and with eager cries
And sobs and cheering, the air is rent
As he slowly retraces the long descent,
And the child is saved!

Ah! ye who mourn
For chivalry dead, in the days long gone,
And prate of the valor of olden time,
Remember this deed of love sublime,
And know that knightly deeds, and bold,
Are as plentiful now as in days of old.

-George L. Catlin.