At the melancholy menace of their tone! 75
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, 80
All alone,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone-- 85
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, 90
Rolls
A paean from the bells;
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells,
And he dances, and he yells: 95
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells,
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time, 100
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells--
To the sobbing of the bells;