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Does the face of nature shew
Old castles on the cliffs arise,
Below me trees unnumber'd rise,
So both a safety from the wind
'Tis now the raven's bleak abode ;
And see the rivers, how they run
gay, To disperse our cares away.
Oh, merry are the village bells that sound with
soothing chime From the dim old tower, grown grey beneath the shadowy touch of time;
(air, And gaily are they borne along upon the summer Telling of bridal happiness to the youthful and
the fair ;
They give a murmur of delight to earth, and sky,
That mingles with the running streams, and floats
upon the breeze. 'Tis past, the bridal glee is past, those echoing
peals are o'er ; But the sweet, the holy Sabbath comes--we hear
them now once more, With a message from the heavens of love, a voice
that speaks to all ; Unto the temple of our God, unto His shrine they
call. Whether your home's in halls of state, or by the
lowly dells, Come forth and listen to the sounds of the hal
lowed Sabbath bells ! Ye tuneful records, yours it is to watch the pace
of time, And mark the footfalls of each year with deep and
48 Coming at midnight's silent hour, when all is dim
and drear, 'Tis yours to breathe the last farewell of the sad
expiring year; And while we bid its hopes and fears, its fleeting
hours adieu, 'Tis yours to hail with cheerful voice the birthday
of the new.
And yet once more your music breaks upon my
listening ear, Though not the gaily sounding notes we love so
well to hear; Changed is your message to the heart, your joyous
tone is fled; Ye speak to us of buried hopes, a requiem for the
dead! Some home to-day is desolate, a soul from earth
is free. Mortal, the knell thou hearest now full soon may
toll for thee!
O changeful bells, that swell'd but now the tide
of human bliss, What ministers of grief ye seem, in such an hour
as this! Say, is your knell a sorrowing one, for the lovely
doomed to die, Youth's early blush upon their cheek, its radiance
in their eye?
THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.
49 Or do ye mourn in mockery for the beings frail
as fair, Whose lives, like golden evening clouds, have
melted into air?
Yet such, alas, is human life; woe for the haughty
breath! To-day in health and power 'tis raised, to-morrow
stilled in death. One voice proclaims our joy and grief, our wishes,
hopes, and fears; The eye that brightly beams to-day, to-morrow
dims with tears. A few short years, a few brief suns, in earthly
homes we dwell, Then life with all its dreams shall be but as that
THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the
year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows
brown and sere; Heap'd in the hollows of the grove the wither'd
leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust and to the rabbits'