Hark, how chimes the passing bell!
There's no music to a knell;
All the other sounds we hear,
Flatter, and but cheat our ear.
This doth put us still in mind
That our flesh must be resigned,
And, a general silence made,
The world be muffled in a shade.
[Orpheus' lute, as poets tell,
Was but moral of this bell,
And the captive soul was she,
Which they called Eurydice,
Rescued by our holy groan,
A loud echo to this tone.]
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And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
That sucked the honey of his music vows,
Now read more
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
That sucked the honey of his music vows,
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason
Like sweet bells jangled, out of time and harsh,
That unmatched form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy.
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at interval upon the ear
In cadence sweet; read more
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at interval upon the ear
In cadence sweet; now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again, and louder still,
Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on!
With easy force it opens all the cells
Where Memory slept.
For bells are the voice of the church;
They have tones that touch and search
The hearts read more
For bells are the voice of the church;
They have tones that touch and search
The hearts of young and old.
Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells!
Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells!
Softly the loud peal dies,
In passing winds it drowns,
But breathes, like perfect joys,
read more
Softly the loud peal dies,
In passing winds it drowns,
But breathes, like perfect joys,
Tender tones.
With deep affection
And recollection
I often think of
Those Shandon bells,
read more
With deep affection
And recollection
I often think of
Those Shandon bells,
Whose sounds so wild would,
In the days of childhood,
Fling round my cradle
Their magic spells.
Curfew must not ring to-night.
Curfew must not ring to-night.
The Bell never rings of itself; unless some one handles or moves
it it is dumb.
[Lat., Nunquam read more
The Bell never rings of itself; unless some one handles or moves
it it is dumb.
[Lat., Nunquam aedepol temere tinniit tintinnabulum;
Nisi quis illud tractat aut movet, mutum est, tacet.]
