The Bells (Written by Edgar Allan Poe Adjusted by Phil Ochs)

The Bells
Author	Edgar Allan Poe
First published	1849
Type	Poem

Poem

I.

       Hear the sledges with the bells—

                Silver bells!

What a world of merriment their melody foretells!

       How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,

          In the icy air of night!

       While the stars that oversprinkle

       All the heavens, seem to twinkle

          With a crystalline delight;

        Keeping time, time, time,

        In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the tintinabulation 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 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!

III.

        Hear the loud alarum bells—

                Brazen bells!

What 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 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 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.

Phil Ochs Song Lyrics

The Bells
Author	Written by Edgar Allan Poe Adjusted by Phil Ochs
Type	Song

Hear the sledges with the bells, silver bells

What a world of merriment their melody foretells

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle in the icy air of night

All the heavens seem to twinkle with a crystalline delight

Keeping time, time, time with a sort of Runic rhyme

From the tintinnabulation that so musically wells

From the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells

From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells

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

Through the dances and the yells and the rapture that impels

How it swells, how it dwells, on the future how it tells

From the swinging and the ringing of the molten golden bells

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells

Of the rhyming and the chiming of the bells

Hear the loud alarum bells, brazen bells

What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells

Much too horrified to speak, oh, they can only shriek

For all the ears to know how the danger ebbs and flows

Leaping higher, higher, higher, with a desperate desire

In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire

With the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells

With the clamor and the clanging of the bells

Hear the tolling of the bells, iron bells

What a world of solemn thought their monody compels

For all the sound that floats from the rust within our throats

And the people sit and groan in their muffled monotone

And the tolling, tolling, tolling feels a glory in the rolling

From the throbbing and the sobbing of the melancholy bells

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells

Of the moaning and the groaning of the bells

Hear the sledges with the bells, silver bells

What a world of merriment their melody foretells

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle in the icy air of night

All the heavens seem to twinkle with a crystalline delight

Keeping time, time, time with a sort of Runic rhyme

From the tintinnabulation that so musically wells

From the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells

From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells