In the jangling

And the wrangling,

How the danger sinks and swells,

By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells,— In the clamor and the clangor of the 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 nor woman,-
They are neither brute nor human;
They are ghouls;

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

A pæan from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the pean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pean of the bells,—
Keeping time,

As he knells,

In a happy Runic rhyme,

To the rolling of the bells,

To the tolling of the bells,

To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Ex. CXXVIII.-THE MOSQUITO.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

FAIR insect! that, with thread-like legs spread out,
And blood-extracting bill, and filmy wing,
Dost murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about,

In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing,
And tell how little our large veins should bleed,
Would we but yield them to thy bitter need.

Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse,

Full angrily men hearken to thy plaint;
Thou gettest many a brush and many a curse,
For saying thou art gaunt, and starved, and faint:
Even the old beggar, while he asks for food,
Would kill thee, hapless stranger, if he could.

I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween,
Has not the honor of so proud a birth-

Thou comest from Jersey meadows, fresh and green,
The offspring of the gods, though born on earth;
For Titan was thy sire, and fair was she,

The ocean-nymph that nursed thy infancy.

Beneath the rushes was thy cradle swung,

And when, at length, thy gauzy wings grew strong, Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung,

Rose in the sky, and bore thee soft along;

The south wind breathed to waft thee on thy way,
And danced and shone beneath the billowy bay.

Calm rose afar the city spires, and thence
Came the deep murmur of its throng of men,

And as its grateful odors met thy sense,

They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen. Fair lay its crowded streets, and at the sight Thy tiny song grew shriller with delight.

At length thy pinion fluttered in Broadway

Ah, there were fairy steps, and white necks kissed By wanton airs, and eyes whose killing ray

Shone through the snowy vails like stars through mist; And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin,

Bloomed the bright blood through the transparent skin.

6. A Afrungs

Sure these were sights to tempt an anchorite!
What! do I hear thy slender voice complain?
Thou wailest when I talk of beauty's light,
As if it brought the memory of pain;
Thou art a wayward being-well-come near,
And pour thy tale of sorrow in my ear.

What say'st thou, slanderer!-rouge makes thee sick?
And China Bloom at best is sorry food?

And Rowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick,

Poisons the thirsty wretch that bores for blood?
Go! 't was a just reward that met thy crime-
But shun the sacrilege another time.

That bloom was made to look at-not to touch;
To worship-not approach-that radiant white;
And well might sudden vengeance light on such
As dared, like thee, most impiously to bite.
Thou should'st have gazed at distance, and admired—
Murmured thy admiration, and retired.

Thou 'rt welcome to the town-but why come here
To bleed a brother poet, gaunt like thee?

Alas! the little blood I have is dear,

And thin will be the banquet drawn from me.
Look round-the pale-eyed sisters in my cell,
Thy old acquaintance, song and famine, dwell.

Try some plump alderman, and suck the blood
Enriched by generous wine and costly meat;
On well-filled skins, sleek as thy native mud,
Fix thy light pump, and press thy freckled feet:
Go to the men for whom, in ocean's halls,
The oyster breeds, and the green turtle sprawls.

There corks are drawn, and the red vintage flows,
To fill the swelling veins for thee, and now
The ruddy cheek, and now the ruddier nose

Shall tempt thee, as thou flittest round the brow;
And when the hour of sleep its quiet brings,
No angry hand shall rise to brush thy wings.

Ex. CXXIX.-RUM'S MANIA C.

WHY am I thus? the maniac cried,
Confined 'mid crazy people? Why?
I am not mad-knave, stand aside!
I'll have my freedom, or I'll die;
It's not for cure that here I've come;
I tell thee, all I want is rum-
I must have rum!

Sane? yes, and have been all the while;
Why, then, tormented thus? 'Tis sad:
Why chained, and held in duress vile ?
The men who brought me here were mad;
I will not stay where specters come;
Let me go home: I must have rum—
I must have rum!

'Tis he! 'tis he! my aged sire!

What has disturbed thee in thy grave?

Why bend on me that eye of fire?

Why torment, since thou canst not save?

Back to the church-yard whence you've come!
Return, return! but send me rum—

O, send me rum!

Why is my mother musing there,
On that same consecrated spot,

Where once she taught me words of prayer?
But now she hears, she heeds me not.

Mute in her winding-sheet she stands;
Cold, cold, I feel her icy hands-
Her icy hands!

She's vanished; but a dearer friend,
I know her by her angel smile,
Has come her partner to attend,

His hours of misery to beguile;

Haste! haste! loved one, and set me free;
'T were heaven to 'scape from hence to thee-
From hence to thee.

She does not hear; away she flies,
Regardless of the chain I wear,
Back to her mansion in the skies,

To dwell with kindred spirits there.

DR. NOTT.

Why has she gone?

O God, I'm ruined!

Why did she come?
Give me rum!

O, give me rum!

Hark! hark! for bread my children cry,
A cry that drinks my spirits up;
But 'tis in vain, in vain to try;

O give me back the drunkard's

cup !

My lips are parched, my heart is sad;

This cursed chain! 't will make me mad'T will make me mad!

It wont wash out, that crimson stain!

I've scoured those spots, and made them white; Blood reappears again, again,

Soon as the morning brings the light!

When from my sleepless couch I come,
To see-to feel-O give me rum!
I must have rum!

'Twas there I heard his piteous cry,
And saw his last imploring look,
But steeled my heart, and bade him die,
Then from him golden treasures took;
Accurséd treasure! stinted sum!
Reward of guilt! Give, give me rum—
O, give me rum!

Hark! still I hear that piteous wail;
Before my eyes his specter stands;
And when it frowns on me I quail!
O, I would fly to other lands!
But, that pursuing, there 't would come;
There's no escape! O, give me rum—
O, give me rum!

Guard, guard those windows! bar that door!
Yonder I arméd bandits see!

They 've robbed my house of all its store,
And now return to murder me;
They're breaking in! don't let them come!
Drive, drive them hence! but give me rum!
O, give me rum!

I stake again? not I; no more,
Heartless, accurséd gamester, no!