As a philosopher Sordino tried
To make himself believe that all was well,
Howe’er something opposed his wise decree,--
He sought to sup, but found each dish to be
Devoid of savor both in taste and smell,
His spleen the head’s philosophy defied.
He sought his couch and courted gentle sleep,
And stoically scorned his love-affair,
But Somnus was so far away, unheeding,
And thoughts in solitude were slowly feeding
Upon his heart, like lions in their lair,
Instead of rest, his misery grew deep.
The clock struck ten, he rose and left his room;
The bar was lively, and he chose its folly;
There was the sailor, garrulous and drunk,
In company with one, a quondam monk,
From Henry’s reign, when monks, unduly jolly,
Were driven from pretended cloister-gloom.
But if the ruby brightness of his nose
Was then acquired, or in his homeless state,
Is not for me to say, but it surpassed
Even his who years had sailed before the mast,
And with the aid of gin and stormy fate
Had made it blossom like an Irish rose.
These two from spheres so far apart had met
Across a stoop of ale, which like the river
Of classic eld can quench all mundane sorrow,
Make men forgetful of the past and morrow,
Upon whose bosom dreams all sunlit quiver,
Until it empties in a sea of jet.
Upon the sailor’s quick discovery
Of Count Sordino’s presence, he approached
Him with a courtsy very risible
And whispered that he had something to tell,
Which on their precious secret did encroach,
And asked him, come aside from company.
Sordino followed with a sense of fear,
That it was money which the rogue was after,
And cared but little for his muddled talk;
Soon on the dark, deserted garden-walk
They stood, where faint the hum and laughter
Of drinking men, fell on the listening ear.
In broken sentences, and low, the croon
Confided to Sordino something strange:
He had that very eve beheld the man,
Who brought the bells from France to old Ireland,
First on the street, then on a garden-bench,
Embracing a young lady, ’neath the moon.
Moreover, he had chanced to meet a fellow,
Who used to wear the cowl, in whilom days,
But had doffed cloth and everything religious,
And though his story was somewhat ambiguous,
He claims to know the chimes, and doth much praise
Their wondrous tones as very clear and mellow.
This tale engrossed Sordino’s mind intensely;
They entered, sought the monk, who half asleep
Sat by a table all alone; the two
Aroused him with a drink of better brew,
Now with the sailor he the best did reap
From the Count’s interest and liberality.
Sordino made agreement with these men
To go with him to Ireland, even that week,
Which they did promise for a goodly hire,--
For both declared, they knew the very spire,
Around whose golden cross his chimes did seek
Their flight up to the list’ning choirs of heaven.