 | The bells |  |
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THE OLD HOUSE.
The Old House alone,
A queer and crumbling pile,
And though its shattered gables tell—
Faintly, like the pulses of a bell—
Of days and years, mayhap of centuries flown,
I cannot help but smile.
A queer and crumbling pile,
And though its shattered gables tell—
Faintly, like the pulses of a bell—
Of days and years, mayhap of centuries flown,
I cannot help but smile.
The Old House stands alone,
Over the windows and the oaken door,
There's something in the mouldings that's so quaint;
No knocker rings upon those pannels more;
Some urchin wrung it off!
In these degenerate days an urchin is no saint,
But dares to laugh and scoff
At things that bear the holy taint,
And impress of the Past.
Its windows boast not one whole pane of glass;
And tho' it pains me, let it still be said
That I have broken many a square, alas!
My heart has since its reparation made.
I'm grieving now I ever threw a stone;
They used to graze the damp discolored walls,
And wake the sleeping echo in the halls
And that would go from room to room and moan.
Besides, the windows always blushed so red,
When Sunset stooped to catch the winged gulls,
Or stripped him, shameless, for his ocean bed;
But now they seem like eyeless skulls
Of some poor mortals dead!
Over the windows and the oaken door,
There's something in the mouldings that's so quaint;
No knocker rings upon those pannels more;
Some urchin wrung it off!
In these degenerate days an urchin is no saint,
But dares to laugh and scoff
At things that bear the holy taint,
And impress of the Past.
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And tho' it pains me, let it still be said
That I have broken many a square, alas!
My heart has since its reparation made.
I'm grieving now I ever threw a stone;
They used to graze the damp discolored walls,
And wake the sleeping echo in the halls
And that would go from room to room and moan.
Besides, the windows always blushed so red,
When Sunset stooped to catch the winged gulls,
Or stripped him, shameless, for his ocean bed;
But now they seem like eyeless skulls
Of some poor mortals dead!
That structure seems ideal!
There's such an indistinctness in its form,
I sometimes doubt if really it be real.
So oft its roof hath felt the drenching storm,
So oft it has been danced upon by hail,
That contour seems washed out!
And when I view it 'tis with half a doubt,
As dimly through a veil.
There's such an indistinctness in its form,
I sometimes doubt if really it be real.
So oft its roof hath felt the drenching storm,
So oft it has been danced upon by hail,
That contour seems washed out!
And when I view it 'tis with half a doubt,
As dimly through a veil.
That ancient House might tell a startling tale
Could its cracked wainscots and dark closets speak;
A tale to make the laughing lip turn pale
And send the heart's blood bubbling to the cheek.
Ere I was born, when my grandsire was young,
A legend curious, rather wild withall,
Around that lonely mansion hung;
And at some future time,
Should I possess the quantity of rhyme,
That legend shall be sung.
Could its cracked wainscots and dark closets speak;
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And send the heart's blood bubbling to the cheek.
Ere I was born, when my grandsire was young,
A legend curious, rather wild withall,
Around that lonely mansion hung;
And at some future time,
Should I possess the quantity of rhyme,
That legend shall be sung.
Those chambers drear, deserted save by storms,
Shall hear again the pleading Lover's sigh;
I'll clutch the Past! bring back its phantom forms,
And light with passion many an orbless eye.
From disused graveyards of this dear old town,
I'll drag the helpless and long slumbering dead;
With plumes I'll deck full many a fleshless head,
With clanking spurs full many a fleshless heel;
Marshall the dead in some undying fight,
Robe them in silks as if for banquet night—
The flippant Fop, the Warrior in his steel!
Shall hear again the pleading Lover's sigh;
I'll clutch the Past! bring back its phantom forms,
And light with passion many an orbless eye.
From disused graveyards of this dear old town,
I'll drag the helpless and long slumbering dead;
With plumes I'll deck full many a fleshless head,
With clanking spurs full many a fleshless heel;
Marshall the dead in some undying fight,
Robe them in silks as if for banquet night—
The flippant Fop, the Warrior in his steel!
[OMITTED]
O, let me tell thee one thing, trembling House!
That in thy days of former pomp gone by,
When light feet danced where crawls secure the mouse,
And thy bare walls were hung with drapery—
I tell thee truly—when thy haunted halls
Were scenes of Bridal, Birth, and Revelry,
And Funeral wails resounded in thy walls,
None in those hours of pain and joy gone by
Could love thee then more fondly now than I.
O, let me tell thee one thing, trembling House!
That in thy days of former pomp gone by,
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And thy bare walls were hung with drapery—
I tell thee truly—when thy haunted halls
Were scenes of Bridal, Birth, and Revelry,
And Funeral wails resounded in thy walls,
None in those hours of pain and joy gone by
Could love thee then more fondly now than I.
| The bells | |