THE PHANTOM BELLS .

U PVEILED in yonder dim ethereal sea,
Its airy towers the work of phantom spells,
A viewless belfry tolls its wizard bells,
Pealed o'er this populous earth perpetually.
Some hear, some hear them not; but aye they be
Laden with one strange note that sinks or swells,
Now dread as doom, now gentle as farewells, —
Time's dirge borne ever toward eternity.
Each hour its measured breath sobs out and dies,
While the bells toll its requiem, — " Passing, past , " —
The sole sad burden of their long refrain.
Still, with those hours each pang, each pleasure flies,
Brief sweet, brief bitter, — all our days are vain,
Knolled into drear forgetfulness at last.