 | Poems |  |
THOSE SHANDON BELLS.
Those Shandon bells, those Shandon bells!
Whose deep, sad tone now sobs, now swells—
Who comes to seek this hallowed ground,
And sleep within their sacred sound?
Whose deep, sad tone now sobs, now swells—
Who comes to seek this hallowed ground,
And sleep within their sacred sound?
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'Tis one who heard these chimes when young,
And who in age their praises sung,
Within whose breast their music made
A dream of home where'er he strayed.
And who in age their praises sung,
Within whose breast their music made
A dream of home where'er he strayed.
And, oh! if bells have power to-day
To drive all evil things away,
Let doubt be dumb, and envy cease—
And round his grave reign holy peace.
To drive all evil things away,
Let doubt be dumb, and envy cease—
And round his grave reign holy peace.
True love doth love in turn beget,
And now these bells repay the debt;
Whene'er they sound, their music tells
Of him who sang sweet Shandon bells!
And now these bells repay the debt;
Whene'er they sound, their music tells
Of him who sang sweet Shandon bells!
May 30, 1866.
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