How soft the music of those village bells, Falling at intervals 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. CowperTask. Bk. VI. L. 6.
The old mayor climbed the belfry tower, The ringers ran by two, by three; Pull, if ye never pulled before; Good ringers, pull your best, quoth he. Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells! Ply all your changes, all your swells, Play uppe The Brides of Enderby. Jean IngelowHigh Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire.
The bells themselves are the best of preachers, Their brazen lips are learned teachers, From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air, Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw, Shriller than trumpets under the Law, Now a sermon and now a prayer. LongfellowChristus. The Golden Legend. Pt. III.
It cometh into court and pleads the cause Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws; And this shall make, in every Christian clime, The bell of Atri famous for all time. LongfellowTales of a Wayside Inn. The Sicilians Tale. The Bell of Atri.
Nunquam ædepol temere tinniit tintinnabulum; Nisi quis illud tractat aut movet, mutum est, tacet. The Bell never rings of itself; unless some one handles or moves it it is dumb. PlautusTrinummus. IV. 2. 162.
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, While the stars that oversprinkle All the Heavens seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight: Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells From the jingling and the tingling of the bells. PoeThe Bells. St. 1.
Hear the mellow wedding bells, Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight! From the molten golden notes, And all in tune What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens while she gloats On the moon! PoeThe Bells. St. 2.
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. Father Prout (Francis Mahony). The Bells of Shandon.
And this be the vocation fit, For which the founder fashioned it: High, high above earths life, earths labor Een to the heavens blue vault to soar. To hover as the thunders neighbor, The very firmament explore. To be a voice as from above Like yonder stars so bright and clear, That praise their Maker as they move, And usher in the circling year. Tund be its metal mouth alone To things eternal and sublime. And as the swift wingd hours speed on May it record the flight of time! SchillerSong of the Bell. E. A. Bowrings trans.
Around, around, Companions all, take your ground, And name the bell with joy profound! CONCORDIA is the word weve found Most meet to express the harmonious sound, That calls to those in friendship bound. SchillerSong of the Bell.
Hark, how chimes the passing bell! Theres 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.] ShirleyThe Passing Bell.