It is so the poet tells Who has heard these Ghoulish bells; And whose rheumy running rhyme, Bowl’d in time, time, time, With the throbbing and the sobbing And the bobbing and hobnobbing And sense-robbing of the bells, Could alone expound their yells For the clamor each expels, From the loud full-hammer’d tone, Sometime hoarsening to a groan, Sometime worsening to a moan, Till one bell tolls out alone In a muffled monotone Between murmuring and moan,―― Till the King lolled there, as shown, On his scroll-becarven throne, Grown weary of the yells And the bowling of the bells (Well! well! to be so bold) As they moan and groan and yell Pell-mell, Would be fain to be unthroned, For the pain too wholly own’d, Untold but wholly known, (Toll de roll!) Of the moans, groans, yells, As they shake the steeple stone, And awake the undergone (Rest his soul!) With the tolling of their knells, Roll’d like blood-drops from heart wells, Misereres out of cells, Or weird witch-moulded spells Under fells! The bells, bells, bells, Whose tolling ever tells Of Ghouls, of hells, of knells, Told by bells, bells, bells Bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells, The unholy yelling, knelling, wholly sense dispelling, Moaning, groaning, all-atoning, Rolling, tolling of the bells, Bells, Bells. ――――:o:―――― HULLALOO.[14] The eves were as grey as grey embers, The leaves dirty yellow and sere,―― They were yellow, but dusky and sere; That eve was the worst of November’s, And they are the worst of the year. ’Twas an eve that one surely remembers, Being out in the dusk with my dear; For the fire was gone out to weak embers; So I went out too, with my dear. Hear then! Through an alley Satanic―― Of hemlock, I roam’d with my love,―― Of hemlock with Sarah, my love. O my passion was quite oceanic, With waves like the wind in a grove, When the wind maketh waves in a grove―― And the leaves with a sort of a panic Seem taken; I thought of the stove, And, shivering, as if with a panic Was taken, at thought of the stove. Our talk at the first had been jolly, But our words soon were slow as our walk,―― Our young memories scarcely could walk; Then we thought it was right melancholy To be out in the dark without talk―― For we knew that we came out to talk Still we felt in our hearts it was folly The vast dream of silence to baulk, Till, whispering at last, I said――Golly! And Sarah back whisper’d me――Lawk!