The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | IX. |
|
|
|
|
|
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
69
IV. THE FAIRY BELLS
Of old at night, when the woods were bright
And the air was warm with the warmth of June,
The bells of the fairies tinkled light
And their eyes flashed under the summer moon.
Yes, then you might hear, when the moon shone clear
Through the woods, or over the purple fells,
Sometimes distant, and sometimes near,
The sound of the beautiful fairy bells,
The beautiful fairy bells.
And the air was warm with the warmth of June,
The bells of the fairies tinkled light
And their eyes flashed under the summer moon.
Yes, then you might hear, when the moon shone clear
Through the woods, or over the purple fells,
Sometimes distant, and sometimes near,
The sound of the beautiful fairy bells,
The beautiful fairy bells.
Alas! men's hearts waxed selfish and hard,
And they only cared for gold and gain;
The ears of the fairies grew quite jarred
By the puff, puff, puff of the rattling train.
To deep dark forests the fairies fled,
And we all are sorry—though no one tells—
That the innocent sweet old days are dead
When we all could hear the fairy bells,
The beautiful fairy bells.
And they only cared for gold and gain;
The ears of the fairies grew quite jarred
By the puff, puff, puff of the rattling train.
70
And we all are sorry—though no one tells—
That the innocent sweet old days are dead
When we all could hear the fairy bells,
The beautiful fairy bells.
But still when lovers are fond and true,
If they listen within the woods of June
When the stars shine through deep skies of blue
And the white clouds kiss the shy-faced moon,
They may hear, they may hear, soft, sweet and clear,
A sound that rises, a sound that swells,
Sometimes distant and sometimes near—
The sound of the beautiful fairy bells,
The beautiful fairy bells.
If they listen within the woods of June
When the stars shine through deep skies of blue
And the white clouds kiss the shy-faced moon,
They may hear, they may hear, soft, sweet and clear,
A sound that rises, a sound that swells,
Sometimes distant and sometimes near—
The sound of the beautiful fairy bells,
The beautiful fairy bells.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |