VII.

Full fleetly sped the morning hours; Then, wide upon the country round A tumult of melodious powers In tumult of melodious sound Burst forth from all the village towers.

With blow on blow, and tone on tone, And echoes answering everywhere— Like bugles from the mountains blown— Each sought to whelm the burdened air, And make the silence all its own.

In broad, sonorous, silver swells The air was billowed like the sea; And listening ears were listening shells That caught the Sabbath minstrelsy, And sang it with the singing bells.

The billows heaved, the billows broke, The first wild burst went down amain; The music fell to slower stroke, And in a rhythmic, bold refrain The great bells to each other spoke.

Oh bravely bronze gave forth his word, And sharply silver made reply, And every tower and turret stirred With sounding breath and converse high, Or paused with waiting ear, and heard.

And long they talked, as friend to friend; Then faltered to their closing toll, Whose long, monotonous repetend, From every music-burdened bowl Poured the last drop, and brought the end!