 | Fra Cipolla, and other poems |  |
79
CHIMES OF ANTWERP.
One, two, and three, with measured stroke and numbers on they go,
For Ghentish Charles 'twas thus they woke, for blood-stained Alva so,
And still from out their airy cage of wreathed and trelliced stone
They tell us of our pilgrimage another hour has flown.
For Ghentish Charles 'twas thus they woke, for blood-stained Alva so,
And still from out their airy cage of wreathed and trelliced stone
They tell us of our pilgrimage another hour has flown.
They float above the Place de Mer, and o'er thy roofs and towers,
Fair Antwerp, with thy solemn air and antique Flemish bowers;
And sweet and stately is the sound, and melancholy too,
As it should be where Memory the fabler dwells with you.
Fair Antwerp, with thy solemn air and antique Flemish bowers;
And sweet and stately is the sound, and melancholy too,
As it should be where Memory the fabler dwells with you.
One, two, and three, with measured stroke and numbers on they go:
'Twas thus on Rubens' ear at eve their sounds were wont to flow;
And still o'er his best monument , with monumental tone,
They tell us of our pilgrimage another hour has flown.
'Twas thus on Rubens' ear at eve their sounds were wont to flow;
And still o'er his best monument , with monumental tone,
They tell us of our pilgrimage another hour has flown.
| Fra Cipolla, and other poems | |