In Bowlahoola Los's
Anvils1 stand and his Furnaces rage;
Thundering the Hammers beat, and the Bellows2 blow loud,
Living, self-moving, mourning, lamenting3, and howling incessantly4
Bowlahoola thro' all its porches feels, tho' too fast founded,
Its pillars and porticoes5 to tremble at the force
Of mortal or immortal6 arm; and softly lilling flutes7,
Accordant with the horrid8 labours, make sweet melody
The Bellows are the Animal Lungs, the Hammers the Animal Heart,
The Furnaces the Stomach for digestion9; terrible their fury!
Thousands and thousands labour, thousands play on instruments,
Stringèd or fluted10, to ameliorate the sorrows of slavery.
Loud sport the dancers in the Dance of Death, rejoicing in carnage.
The hard dentant Hammers are lull'd by the flutes' lula lula,
The bellowing11 Furnaces' blare by the long-sounding clarion12,
The double drum drowns howls and groans13, the shrill14 fife shrieks15 and cries,
The crooked16 horn mellows17 the hoarse18 raving19 serpent —— terrible but harmonious20.