To the Sky - Vitne

Poe wrote this poem about the church bells of Fordham University,

which rang right next to when he lived in the Bronx in 1845.

One hundred and 24 years later, hip-hop was born three miles away from this

very same spot.

This poem has beautiful cadences and rhythms, just listen.

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!

With the stars that oversprinkle With a crystalline delight;

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

To the tintinnabulation resonating very fine

From the jingling and tinkling of the mellow wedding bells

Golden bells!

What a world of happiness we know they must fortell!

Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight!

-

From the molten — golden notes, And all in tune, hella tight

While a liquid ditty floats, on the moon from sounding cells,

What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!

How it swells!

How it dwells On the Future!

— how it tells

To the swinging and the ringing Of the rapture that impels

Of the bells, bells, bells — Check the bells, bells, bells,

Go to sleep to the rhyming and the chiming of the bells

Rock the Bells

Hear the loud alarum bells — Brazen bells!

What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!

In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright!

Too horrified to speak, only shriek, and ignite

In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,

A mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,

Leaping higher, higher, higher, with a deep desperate desire,

And a resolute endeavor that accentuates the pyre

Now — now to sit, or never, by the side of the moon.

Oh, the bells, bells, bells!

Know that terror’s coming soon

How they clang, and they roar!

What a horror they outpour

On the bosom of the air, with eternity in store

How the danger ebbs and flows with the twanging, And the clanging,

Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling,

How the danger sinks and swells, in the anger of the bells —

Of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells

Go to sleep to 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!

In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright

At the melancholy menace of their tone!

It excites

All alone hear it float like the rust within our throats, it’s a groan

And the people — ah, the people — 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 — neither brute nor human

They are ghouls and their king well he rolls and he rules

A paean from the bells as his merry bosom swells

With the paean of the bells!

As he dances, and he yells;

(peein')

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

To the paean of the bells: — To the throbbing of the bells —

Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells,

Go to sleep to the moaning and the groaning of the bells.