Who knows? If no breeze and no wave were to kiss them? Who knows?" As I sang, the lady listen'd, Silent save one gentle sigh: Up I sprang. What words were utter'd Bootless now to think or tell, Tongues speak wild when hearts are flutter'd "Magdalena, dearest, hear me," Sigh'd I, as I seized her hand; "Hola! Señor," very near me, Cries a voice of stern command. And a stalwart caballero Comes upon me with a stride, "Will your Worship have the goodness Then the Spanish caballero Bow'd with haughty courtesy, Solemn as a tragic hero, And announced himself to me: "Señor, I am Don Camillo Y Santallos y Herrera Y Quintana y de Rosa Y Zorilla y"—"No more, sir; 'Tis as good as twenty score, sir,” You will find I'm just your fellow,- By the river's bank that night, Fought we in the dubious light Close and closer still I press'd: Fortune favour'd me at last; I broke his guard, my weapon pass'd: Through the caballero's breast: The man of many names went down, Pierced by the sword of Peter Brown! With the bleeding from his wound. I never knew, I ne'er shall know. That night from Spain in haste I fled, Years and years ago. What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 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! What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! O, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! On the Future! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! Hear the loud alarum bells, - brazen bells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! They can only shriek, shriek, In a clamourous appealing to the mercy of the fire, And a resolute endeavour, How they clang, and clash, and roar ! By the twanging and the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; In the jangling and the wrangling, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells, — Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, In the clamour and the clangour of the bells! Hear the tolling of the bells, - iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people, ah, the people,- All alone, And who tolling, tolling, tolling, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone! And their king it is who tolls; And his merry bosom swells With the pean of the bells! In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tolling of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. BUGLE SONG. ALFRED TENNYSON. THE splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story; The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying: |