THE VILLAGE BELLS.
"How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling, at intervals, upon the ear
In cadence sweet,—now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again, and louder still,
Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on!
With easy force it opens all the cells
Where mem'ry slept."[1]
There is a lovely English sound
Upon the English air,
It comes when else had silence found
Its quiet empire there.
All ordinary signs of life
To-day are hushed and still;
No voice of labour or of strife
Ascends the upland hill.
The leaves in softer music stir,
The brook in softer tune;
Life rests, and all things rest with her
This Sabbath afternoon.
How fair it is! how English fair!
No other land could show
A pastoral beauty to compare
With that which lies below.
The broad green meadow-lands extend
Up to the hanging wood,
Where oak and beech together blend,
That have for ages stood.
What victories have left those trees,
What time the winged mast
Bore foreign shores and foreign seas
St. George's banner past.
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- ↑ Cowper
