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Hear the tolling of the bellsFron bells, these are

Iron bells ! * the death knell or What a world of solemn thought their monody * passing bells, which are tolled for a de- compels ! parting soul,

In the silence of the night,
Monody, a lament.

How we shiver with affright
Menace, a threat.
At the melancholy menace

of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats

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Is a groan.

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song

And the people-ah, the people--
They that dwell up in the steeple,

All alone,

And who, tolling, tolling, tolling Monotone, a repeti

In that muffled monotone,* tion of the same note in music;

Feel a glory in so rolling
an un-
varied sound.

On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman,

They are neither brute nor human,
Ghouls, demons in

They are Ghouls ! * Eastern fable, who

And their king it is that tolls; were supposed prey upon human

And he rolls, rolls, rolls, bodies.

Rolls Paan,

A pæan * from the bells ! triumph.

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.

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IO inscribe.

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New

Testament

THE SCRIPTORIUM.*--Longfellow.
It is growing dark! Yet one line more,
And then my work for to-day is o'er.
I come again to the name of the Lord !
Ere I that awful name record,*

Record, write down, 5 That is spoken so lightly among men,

Let me pause awhile, and wash my pen;
Pure from blemish * and blot must it be Blemish, stain or spot.
When it writes that word of mystery !

Mystery, something

difficult to underThus have I laboured on and on,

stand, Jo Nearly through the Gospel of John.

Can it be that from the lips
Of this same gentle Evangelist, *,

Evangelist, a writer

of the Gospel. There That Christ himself perhaps hath kissed, were four EvangeCame the dread A pocalypse !

lists, viz., Matthew,

Mark, Luke, nå 15 It has a very awful look,

John.
As it stands there at the end of the book, Apocalypse, name of

the last book of the
Like the sun in an eclipse.
Ah me! when I think of that vision divine Revelation.
Think of writing it, line by line,

Eclipse, when the sun

is hidden by some I stand in awe of the terrible curse,

other celestial body
Like the trump of doom, in the closing verse. passing before it.
God forgive me! if ever I
Take aught * from the book of that Prophecy, Aught, anything.

Lest my part too should be taken away
25 From the Book of Life on the Judgment Day.
This is well written, though I say

it!
I should not be afraid to display * it,

Display, show.
In open day, on the selfsame shelf,

With the writings of St. Thecla herself, 30 Or of Theodosius, who of old

Wrote the Gospels in letters of gold !
That goodly folio * standing yonder,

Folio, a book (lite.
Without a single blot or blunder,

rally, a leaf). Would not bear away the palm * from mine, The palm, the prize. 35 If we should compare them line for line. There, now, is an initial * letter!

Initial, the letter be
Saint Ulric himself never made a better!

ginning a word.
Finished down to the leaf on the snail,
Down to the eyes on the peacock's tail !

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*

*

* Scriptorium, a place set apart for transcribing, illuminating, and writing books This extract is taken from The Golden Legend.

*

Wrapped in a napkin, not made good use of; in allusion to the parable of the "Talents."

And now, as I turn the volume over,

40
And see what lies between cover and cover.
What treasures of heart these pages hold,
All ablaze with crimson and gold,
God forgive me! I seem to feel
A certain satisfaction * steal

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Into my heart, and into my brain,
As if my talent had not lain
Wrapped in a napkin," and all in vain.
Yes, I might almost say to the Lord,
Here is a copy of thy Word,

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Written out with much toil and pain;
Take it, O Lord, and let it be
As something I have done for thee !
How sweet the air is ! How fair the scene !
I wish I had as lovely a green

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To paint my landscapes and my leaves !
How the swallows twitter under the eaves !
There, now, there is one in her nest;
I can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast.
And will sketch her thus in her quiet nook, 60
For the margin * of my Gospel * book.
I can see no more! Through the valley yonder
A shower is passing; I hear the thunder
Mutter its curses in the air,
The Devil's own and only prayer !

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The dusty road is brown with rain,
And, speeding on with might and main,
Hitherward rides a gallant train.
They do not parley,* they cannot wait,
But hurry in at the convent-gate.

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What a fair lady! and beside her
What a handsome, graceful, noble rider !
Now she gives him her hand to alight;
They will beg shelter for the night.
I will go down to the corridor, *

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And try to see that face once more ;
It will do for the face of some beautiful Sainty

Or for one of the Maries * I shall paint.

*

Margina the border
or edge.
Gospel, good tidings;
there are four Gospels
in the New Testa-
ment,

Parley, to speak, to confer.

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*

Corridor, a passage-
way.
One of the Maries, &c.
One of the paintings
of Mary, the mother
of Jesus.

*

THE SHIPWRECK.—Byron.

strong,

*

eats at the same table with another.

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pearance.

his father's

THERE were two fathers in this ghastly * crew, Ghastly,
And with them their two sons, of whom the one

ghost - like,

pale, hideous. Was more robust * and hardy to the view ;

Robust, But he died early : and when he was gone, 5 His nearest messmate * told his sire, who threw

healthy.

Messmate, a One glance on him, and said, “Heaven's will be mate or comdone!

panion who
I can do nothing ;" and he saw him thrown
Into the deep, without a tear or groan.
The other father had a weaklier child,

Aspect, apo
Of a soft cheek, and aspect * delicate ;
But the boy bore up long, and with a mild

And patient spirit held aloof his fate :
Little he said, and now and then he smiled, *

He smiled,
As if to win a part from off the weight

&c., he ap

peared 15 He saw increasing on his father's heart,

cheerful, so With the deep, deadly thought, that they must part. as to lighten

grief. And o'er him bent his sire,* and never raised

Sire, father. His

eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed : And when the wished-for * shower at length was Wished-for,

&c., the rain come, And the boy's eyes, which the dull film half glazed, sired, for the Brightened, and for a moment seemed to roam,

boy was

dying of He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain

Into his dying child's mouth ; but in vain ! 25 The boy expired. The father held the clay,

And looked upon it long; and when at last
Death left no doubt, and the dead burden lay

Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past,
He watched it wistfully * until away

Wistfully, 30 'Twas borne by the rude wave wherein 'twas cast;

longingly. Then he himself sunk down all dumb and shivering,* Shivering,

trembling. And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering.

Quivering,

shaking. 'Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down

Over the waste of waters; like a veil, 35 Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one whose hate is masked but to assail.*

dssail, Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown,

Darbled, And grimly darkled * o'er their faces pale,

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80 much de

thirst.

*

*

at

tack.

Familiar,

a demon or

evil spirit who was supposed to be always within call, like

a servant or attendant.

Anticipate, foretaste.

And the dim, desolate deep: twelve days had Fear
Been their familiar,* and now Death was here.

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell—

Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave-
Then some leaped overboard with dreadful yell,
As eager to anticipate * their grave;

And the sea yawned around her, like a hell,

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45

And down she sucked with her the whirling wave,
Like one who grapples with his enemy,
And strives to strangle him before he die.

Universal, general.

Remorseless, pitiless. At intervals, from time to time. Convulsive, spasmodic.

And first one universal * shriek there rushed,
Louder than the loud ocean-like a crash
Of echoing thunder; and then all was hushed,
Save the wild wind and the remorseless * dash
Of billows; but at intervals there gushed,
Accompanied by a convulsive splash,

*

A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry

Of some strong swimmer in his agony.

HORATIUS.*—Macaulay.

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In

THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY (1800-1859), was distinguished as a statesman, an orator, and an essayist; but above all as a historian. brilliancy of illustration, in_graphic description, and in charm of style, he has never been surpassed. For two and a half years he held a legal appointment in India. From 1839 till 1847 he represented Edinburgh in the House of Commons. He was made a Peer in 1857. Chief works: History of England (unfinished), Critical and Historical Essays, and The Lays of Ancient Rome.

Sextus, the son of
Tarquinius Superbus,
King of Rome, who,
with all his kindred,
had been expelled
from the city on ac-
count of his many
crimes.

Lars Porsena was
King of Clusium, in
Etruria (Tuscany).
He led his army
against Rome, in-
tending to place
Sextus on the throne.
Craven, cowardly.

Round turn'd he, as not deigning
ranks to see;
Nought spake he to Lars Porsena,

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