And be sure it will lead us arightWe safely may trust to a gleaming

That cannot but guide us aright,

Since it flickers up to Heaven through the
night.'

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,
And tempted her out of her gloom-
And conquered her scruples and gloom;
And we passed to the end of the vista,

But were stopped by the door of a tomb-
By the door of a legended tomb;

And I said "What is written, sweet sister
On the door of this legended tomb?"
She replied "Ulalume-Ulalume-
'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!"

"Then my heart it grew ashen and sober

As the leaves that were crisped and sereAs the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried-"It was surely October

On this very night of last year

That I journeyed-I journeyed down here

That I brought a dread burden down here

On this night of all nights in the year, Ah, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of AuberThis misty mid region of Weir.

Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."

THE BELLS.

I.

Hear the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells!

What a world of merriment their melody fore

tells!

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!

While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens seem to twinkle
With the 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 all 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 tell
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 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 pæan 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.

AN ENIGMA.

"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce, "Half an ideal in the profoundest sonnet.