THE BELLS
HEAR a voice announcing Irving in The Bells—sledge's bells!
What a scene of wild excitement the advertisement foretells!
See the rush upon the pay-hole—
People stand a night and day whole
To secure a little corner for The Bells!
To look ghastly pale and shudder, every man and "every brudder"
Feels that nothing can be equal to The Bells!
Bells! Bells! Bells! Bells!
Too horrified to cheer,
How appalled they are by Irving in The Bells;
While great beads of perspiration will appear,
For in conscience-stricken terrors he excels!
Gloomy Bells!
Pit and gallery will glory in the weird and frightful story,
Which may even thrill the bosom of the swells,
For every Yankee "dude"
Unquestionably should
Have nightmare after witnessing The Bells!
Will our cousins all go frantic from Pacific to Atlantic, or condemn as childish antic
Irving's dancing, and his gasping, and his yells!
There's a certain admiration which the strange impersonation
Still compels,
E'en from those who can't see beauty in The Bells—
In the play that Mr. Lewis calls The Bells!
Wondrous Bells!
You first made Henry famous, so the stage historian tells.
Will the scene be now repeated which in London always greeted
His performance of Mathias in The Bells?
Or will every sneering Yankee,
In his nasal tones, say "Thankee,
I guess this is just another of your mighty British 'sells'"?
Let the thought for ever perish, that the actor whom we cherish
Could fail to lick creation in The Bells!
But if there are detractors
Of this foremost of our actors,
Of the gentlemanly Irving—friend of Toole's—
"They are neither man nor woman, they are neither brute nor human,"
They are fools!
Judy.