Out of tune,

In the 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.
O 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, bells, bells

In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

IV

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 nor woman
They are neither brute nor human

They are ghouls;

And their king it is who tolls;

And he rolls, rolls, rolls,

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, 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 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.

Chapter II

BELL CASTING

SCHILLER'S "SONG OF THE BELL"

Edited by G. Ripley

See our massy mould of clay
Strongly walled up in the ground;
We must cast the Bell to-day
Briskly, fellows, gather round!
Let the sweat run now
From the heated brow,
If we mean our skill to prove;
But the blessing's from above!

Heap the knotty pine wood higher!
Let it be well dried before,
Till the inward darting fire
Up the narrow passage roar!
Melts the copper? In
Quickly throw the tin;
So the metal shall grow tough,
And by rule run thick enough.

See the snowy bubbles float!

Well the melted masses run; Sprinkle it with salt throughout; That will bring the crisis on.

Let the mixture clear

Of all foam appear;

That the pure, sonorous bell
Clear and full its tones may swell..

OLD FOUNDRY STAMPS USED IN BELL CASTING

How the pipes begin to brown!

If it glasses quickly o'er, When I plunge this ladle down,

Then it will be time to pour.