The Isles of Loch Awe and Other Poems of my Youth With Sixteen Illustrations. By Philip Gilbert Hamerton |
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LANCASHIRE BELL-RINGERS. |
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 | The Isles of Loch Awe and Other Poems of my Youth |  |
173
LANCASHIRE BELL-RINGERS.
From the dark old belfry tower,
From the ringers' lofty room,
A steady light on a winter's night
Shines golden through the gloom.
From the ringers' lofty room,
A steady light on a winter's night
Shines golden through the gloom.
And the tracery of the window,
Mullion, cusp, and quatrefoil,
Shows clear and plain, for every pane
Is bright with lamps of oil.
Mullion, cusp, and quatrefoil,
Shows clear and plain, for every pane
Is bright with lamps of oil.
No marriage music gaily
Its pleasant gossip tells,
But low and soft from the ringers' loft
There comes a sound of bells.
Its pleasant gossip tells,
But low and soft from the ringers' loft
There comes a sound of bells.
Those diligent old ringers,
They practise many a tune!
For they must go on the winter snow,
Beneath the Christmas moon,
They practise many a tune!
For they must go on the winter snow,
Beneath the Christmas moon,
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To all the country houses,
To ring their carols sweet,—
When, bells in hand, the ringers stand
Upon their freezing feet.
To ring their carols sweet,—
When, bells in hand, the ringers stand
Upon their freezing feet.
And through the curtained window
Their full-toned music comes,
Rich and clear it fills the ear,
Like a band with horns and drums.
Their full-toned music comes,
Rich and clear it fills the ear,
Like a band with horns and drums.
The portly butler opens
The mansion's folding-door,
And in the hall their footsteps fall
Upon the oaken floor.
The mansion's folding-door,
And in the hall their footsteps fall
Upon the oaken floor.
And whilst we sit at dinner
A dulcet jargoning
Floats softly round, then swells the sound
Until the glasses ring.
A dulcet jargoning
Floats softly round, then swells the sound
Until the glasses ring.
We 'll go and watch the ringers,
And let the tankard stand.
They sit in a row—at once you know
The leader of the band.
And let the tankard stand.
They sit in a row—at once you know
The leader of the band.
He says, “For fifty winters
I have rung at Christmas here;
I never fail to drink your ale,
And taste your Christmas cheer.”
I have rung at Christmas here;
I never fail to drink your ale,
And taste your Christmas cheer.”
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“Bring him the silver tankard!”
So the old man was consoled
With a draught of port of the proper sort,
And a coin of yellow gold.
So the old man was consoled
With a draught of port of the proper sort,
And a coin of yellow gold.
And they gave us richer music;
And the leader of the band
Struck up, and fast the bells were passed
Across from hand to hand.
And the leader of the band
Struck up, and fast the bells were passed
Across from hand to hand.
| The Isles of Loch Awe and Other Poems of my Youth | |