The Bells

I         

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.

                        II

          Hear the mellow wedding bells,

                  Golden bells!

  What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!

          Through the balmy air of night

          How they ring out their delight!

            From the molten-golden notes,

                  And an 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!

                        III

          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, 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 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.

The original idea for The Bells, is believed to have been given to Poe by his friend, Mrs Shew. An earlier draft, (titled, The Bells, By Mrs. M. A. Shew.) Contained only two stanzas, totalling seventeen lines and read...I.The bells!-ah, the bells! The little silver bells! How fairy-like a melody there floats From their throats-- From their merry little throats-- From the silver, tinkling throats Of the bells, bells, bells-- Of the bells!II.The bells!-ah, the bells !The heavy iron bells! How horrible a monody there floats From their throats-- From their deep-toned throats-- From their melancholy throats! How I shudder at the notes Of the bells, bells, bells-- Of the bells !After two further amendments and additions, the poem was finally accepted for publication. For the final draft, Poe received $15 from Sartain'sFrom the handwritten manuscript, it is not clear from the spacings, quite how Poe intended it to be read, alas he died before he got the chance to confirm the typescript.