10 I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus, 5 on helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer, Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song, And loud, amid the universal clamor, O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. I hear the Florentine, who from his palace. Beat the wild war drums made of serpent's skin, The tumult of each sacked and burning village; The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns; 15 The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage; The wail of famine in beleaguered towns; The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, The rattling musketry, the clashing blade; And ever and anon, in tones of thunder 20 The diapason of the cannonade. Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, "THOU, TOO, SAIL ON, O SHIP OF STATE" 67 Were half the power that fills the world with terror Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, The warrior's name would be a name abhorrèd! 5 Down the dark future, through long generations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace!" Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies! But beatuiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise. 15 "Thou, too, Sail On, O Ship of State" Thou, too, sail on, O ship of State! With all the hopes of future years, 20 We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workman wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, 5 In what a forge and what a heat, Were shaped the anchors of thy hope! Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 'Tis of the wave and not the rock; 'Tis but the flapping of the sail, 10 And not a rent made by the gale. In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, 15 Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, Are all with thee are all with thee! EDGAR ALLAN POE AMERICA, 1809-1849 The Bells Hear the sledges with the bells — 20 What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, THE BELLS In the icy air of night! In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically swells From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. Hear the mellow wedding bells, What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle dove that listens, while she gloats Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it dwells On the Future! how it tells To the swinging and the ringing 25 25 10 15 20 25 Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! Hear the loud alarum bells - What a tale of terror now, their turbulency tells! How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 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! On the bosom of the palpitating air! |