Page images
PDF
EPUB

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!

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 air, 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!

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

[blocks in formation]

A pæan from the bells!

And his merry bosom swells
With the pæan° of the bells,
And he dances and he yells,
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pæan of the bells-
Of the bells:

Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rime,

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 rime,

To the rolling of the bells

Of the bells, bells, bells,—

To the tolling of the bellsOf the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells

To the moaning and the groaning of the bells!

-Edgar Allan Poe

Words: Runic-magical; tintinnabulation-jingling and tinkling; euphony-pleasing sound; turbulency-tumult; expostulation-remonstrance; monody-dirge, funeral or mournful song; ghoulsimaginary beings who rob graves and feed upon corpses; pæansong of triumph.

[blocks in formation]

But he grew old

This knight so bold

And o'er his heart a shadow

Fell as he found

No spot of ground

That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow-
"Shadow," said he,

"Where can it be

This land of Eldorado?"

"Over the Mountains

Of the Moon,

Down the Valley of the Shadow,

Ride, boldly ride,"

The shade replied,—

"If you seek for Eldorado!"

-Edgar Allan Poe

Note: To understand this poem, one must know that Eldorado was t'e name given by the sixteenth century Spaniards to an imaginary. country abounding in gold, which they located somewhere in South America. Thus Eldorado gradually came to mean any very rich country. In a poetic way California was called Eldorado by many of the early goldseekers. But in this selection the poet goes a step further, and makes Eldorado mean the land of our hopes, of our aspirations.

Words: bedight-arrayed, equipped; shadow-ghost, apparition.

Questions: Explain "the Valley of the Shadow." Does the poet hold out encouragement for the realization of our aspirations? Did Poe ever reach his Eldorado? May that fact have influenced him when writing this poem? Compare Poe's philosophy with that found in Longfellow's A Psalm of Life.

ALFRED THE GREAT

(We do not know just how much truth there is in the stories of Jason, Ulysses, Æneas, Siegfried, Arthur, Roland, and Robin Hood. These heroes are legendary characters, concerning whom fact and fancy have been strangely mingled. But King Alfred stands in the clear light of history. To English children the name and deeds of King Alfred hold nearly the same place that Washington has in the minds and hearts of American children.

This story is taken from Charles Dickens' Child's History of England. It shows that Dickens could write history as well as novels.)

A

LFRED THE GREAT was a young man three and twenty years of age when he became king of England. Twice in his childhood he had been taken to Rome, where the Saxon nobles were in the habit of going on pilgrimages; and once he had stayed for some time in Paris. Learning, however, was so little cared for in those days that at twelve years of age he had not been taught to read, although he was the favorite son of King Ethelwulf.

But like most men who grew up to be great and good, he had an excellent mother. One day this lady, whose name was Osburga,* happened, as she sat among her sons, to read a book of Saxon poetry. The art of printing was not known until long after that period. The book, which was written, was illuminated° with beautiful, bright letters, richly painted. The brothers admiring it very much, their mother said, "I will give it to that one of you who first learns to read."

Alfred sought out a tutor that very day, applied himself to learn with great diligence, and soon won the book. He was proud of it all his life.

This great king, in the first year of his reign, fought nine battles with the Danes. He made some treaties with them, too, by which the false Danes swore that they would quit the country. They pretended that they had taken a very solemn

But they thought nothing of breaking oaths and treaties, too, as soon as it suited their purpose, and of coming back again to fight, plunder, and burn.

« PreviousContinue »