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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 paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells

With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean 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.

TO ONE IN PARADISE.

i.

Thou wast that all to me, love,
For which my soul did pine —

A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,

All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.

Ii. Ah, dream too bright to last!

Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise But to be overcast!

A voice from out the Future cries, "On! on !"—but o'er the Past

(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies, Mute, motionless, aghast!

in. For, alas! alas! with me The light of life is o'er! "No more—no more—no more—" (Such language holds the solemn sea

To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom this thunder-blasted tree,

Or the stricken eagle soar!

IV.

And all my days are trances,

And all my nightly dreams Are where thy dark eye glances,

And where thy footstep gleams; In what ethereal dances,

By what eternal streams.

THE VALLEY OF UNREST.

Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sun-light lazily lay.

Now each visitor shall confess

The sad valley's restlessness.

Nothing there is motionless—

Nothing save the airs that brood

Over the magic solitude.

Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees

That palpitate like the chill seas

Around the misty Hebrides!

Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven

That rustle through the unquiet Heaven

Uneasily, from morn till even,

Over the violets there that lie

In myriad types of the human eye —

Over the lilies there that wave

And weep above a nameless grave!

They wave :—from out their fragrant tops

Eternal dews come down in drops.

They weep :—from off their delicate stems

Perennial tears descend in gems.

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I Dwelt alone

In a world of moan,

And my soul was a stagnant tide,

Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride—

Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling

bride.

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