THE BELLS OF SHANDON.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume II, Issue 71, 5 September 1874, Page 13

THE BELLS OF SHANDON.

by "fatheb pboct" (Rev. Francis Mahony.) In republishing this beautiful poem, we take from " Father Prout's Reliques" the following exquisite description of the bells of Paris, by Victor Hugo, ia his Hunchback Quasimodo .— In an ordinary way, the noise issuing from Paris in the daytime is the talking of the city ; at night, it is tbe breathing of the city ; in this case, it is the singing of the city. Lend your ear to this opera of steeples. Diffuse over the whole the buzzing of half a million of j human beings, the eternal murmur of the river, infinite piping of the ■wind, the grave and distinct quartette of the four forests, placed like immense organs on the four hills of the horizon ; soften down as with. a demi-tent all that is too shrill and too harsh in the central mass of eound,— and say if you know anything in the world more rich, more .gladdening, more dazzling, than that tumult of bells — than that furnace of music — than those ten thousand brazen tones, breathed all ■at once from flutes of stone three hundred feet high — than that city which is but one orchestra — than that symphony, rushing and roaring like a tempest. M All these matters," says Father Prout, "we agreed, were very fine ; but there is nothing, after all, like the associations which early infancy attaches to the well-known and long-remembered chimes of our own parish-steeple ; and no magic can equal the effect on our ear when returning after long absence in foreign and perhaps happier •countries. As we perfectly coincided in the tiuth of tbis observation, I added that long ago, while at Rome, I had thrown my ideas into the ■shape of a eong, which I would sing him to the tune of 'the • Groves.' " THE SHANDON BELLS. Sa'-bata pango, Jfunera plango, iSolemnia cldngo. loscvip. on an old Bell. With deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, In the days of childhood, ■ v Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On .this I ponder Where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee ; With thy bells of Shandon, r lhat sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. I've heard bells chiming Full many a clime in, Tolling sublime in Cathedral shrine, While at a glibe rate Brass tongues would vibrate— JBut all their music Spoke naught like thine : For memory dwelling On each proud swelling Of the belfry knelling Its bold notes free, Made the bells of Shandon Sound fur more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. I've heard bells tolling Old "Adrian's Mole" in Their thunder rolling From the Vatican, ! And cymbals glorious {Swinging uprorious In the gorgeous turre • Of Notre Dume : But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly j— O ! the bells of Shandon bound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. There's a bell in Moscow, While on tower and kioeko - In Saint Sophia The Turkman gets, .And loud in air Calls men to prayer .From the tapering summit Of tall minarets. •Such empty phantom I freely grant them ; But there is an anthem More dear to me,— 'Tis the bells of the Bhandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the aiver Lee.