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, In a clamourous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire Leaping higher, higher, higher, By the side of the pale-faced moon. How they clang, and clash, and roar ! 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! From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people-ah, the people- And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone- And their king it is who tolls; A pæan from the bells! Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, E In a happy Runic rhyme, To the tolling of the bells, To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. HOU lingering star with lessening ray, TH That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usherest in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. Oh Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? That sacred hour can I forget !— Those records dear of transports past! Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green ; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twined amorous round the raptured scene. The flowers sprung wanton to be press'd, Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? BURNS. "THE NORTHERN STAR." [A TYNEMOUTH SHIP.] HE Northern Star THE Sail'd over the bar, Bound to the Baltic Sea In the morning grey She stretch'd away,— 'Twas a weary day to me. For many an hour, In sleet and shower, By the lighthouse rock I stray; And watch till dark For the winged barque Of him that is far away. The castle's bound1 I wander round Amidst the grassy graves, But all I hear Is the north wind drear, And all I see are the waves. The Northern Star Is set afar Set in the Baltic Sea; And the waves have spread The sandy bed That holds my love from me. TE TO LUCASTA, GOING TO THE WARRES. [PUBLISHED 1649.] I. ELL me not, Sweet, I am unkinde, Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde, II. True, a new Mistresse now I chase, 1 The castle's bound-Tynemouth castle, the grounds of which are used as a cemetery, or were when this was written. |