Upon an April morn the ship emerged
From fitful seas into the placid pool
Of Limerick. The day was clear and calm,
And nature drew the breath of spring, its balm
Was tempering the breezes, somewhat cool,
From western realms, where ocean-billows surged.
The woods and lanes stood draped in flimsy veil,
Of hues most delicate; a purple shade
Uniting with a tender touch of green,
While here and there a golden glint was seen
Of butter-cups upon the sloping glade,
Or round the ponds, where fleecy clouds did sail.
The skylark, lavishing its melody
Upon the freedom of the airy height,
Did carol from the lofty blue so long,
That not of earth but heaven seemed its song,
An Ariel amid the dazzling light,
Who thrilled the heart of man with ecstasy.
Sordino harkened to this happy flood
Of music, and he saw his servant boy
Gaze upward, like the holy men that day,
When Christ ascended, for it did allay
His sorrows, and like theirs, restore his joy,
Since skylark song is in the English blood.
For have not Wordsworth and great Shelley proven
That none it stirs just like the British heart,
To whom the lark gave immortality,
When it inspired them with its poesy,
And made their odes the acme of their art,
Creations from Apollo’s texture woven?
Sordino’s mind, however, at that hour,
Lacked the repose which was on land and sea;
And without mood no music doth arrest,--
For by an eagerness he was possest,
To know in truth if this the shore might be,
Which held his treasure in Cathedral tower.
The fire of his Italian blood awoke,
Though he had aged so much upon this journey,
He longed to leave the ship, and pass along
The river, which was famous made in song,
By the immortal Moore, and quaint Mahoney,
Whose “Shannon Bells” remain a master-stroke.
Sordino’s wish, to be the first to land,
Was granted, and a boat placed to his service,
Manned by two sailors and the monk and page,
The former only did the oars engage;
Sordino, in the stern, sat like a dervise,
In musings deep, with head posed on his hand.
No finer vista could itself unfold
Than that which burst upon his dreamy eye,
As full in view the city did appear,
A sight which drew from weary hearts a tear,--
A city glimmering twixt sea and sky,
With citadels and shrines, even then, so old.
The sailors left off rowing and gave way
To dreaming on the scene, until a spell
Possest them all, and silent did they rest
Upon the river’s calm, translucent breast,
When all at once the clear tone of a bell
Came floating softly o’er the tranquil bay.
And then a hymn of praise rose up to heaven
From bells whose tongues had notes beyond compare,
Sordino’s chimes--when on his ears they fell,
He knew such happiness which none can tell,
And angel hands to Paradise did bear
The soul who for true harmony had striven.
As riveted he sat with empty stare,
Even when the soul had from its temple fled;
The boy did note it first and gave a cry,
It was to him as if his sire did die;
The monk did say a prayer o’er the dead,
And bid the sailors to the city fare.
They buried him within the hallowed pale
Of the Cathedral, that the Chimes might sound
Their daily dirge above the master’s grave,
Who for their music life and fortune gave,
Who with their mystery his fate had bound,
A lonely pilgrim through a gloomy vale.
His sacrifice, howe’er, was not in vain,
And not amiss his oft belittled quest,
His poet’s mantle fell upon the lad,
To whom his substance he bequeathéd had,--
A singer he became, among the best,
With cadence of the Chimes in lyric strain.
And through his faith the faithless was restored,
The quondam monk became a godly priest,
Who humbly made the message of the bells,
A life of peace where discord often dwells,
To tell of this strange man he never ceast,
Since he his name and memory adored.
And on the Danube, in her father’s hall,
Sat Stella, sorrowing her youth away,
The people said, it was for her dead lover;
But none did know, and none did e’er discover
The secret of her heart, until one day,
Her father heard her on Sordino call.