Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1858-05-13
l)oetltal.
Tiny Bells.

Hast thou ever loved the Summer
With its buds and with its blossoms,
With its birds and all their music,
With its richly perfumed breezes
As they whirl in scented eddies
Underneath the dark green arches
OF the old primeval forest'
Hast ever laid beside the brooklet,
On band of velvet richness,
And with half shut eyes been dreaming,
Watching with half curious vision
Golden bugs fit through the sunshine'
Have you ever heard the music
OF the whispering winds at nghtfall,
Have you heard the ripping tinkle
OF the water in its gambols
When 'tis playing with the fairys!
Have you heard the pearly dew-drops
As they fall in showers of brilliants
On the rose, and on the lily,
On the orange flowers and tulips
Beating music from their petals
Sweeter than the bul-bul's MARBLE,
Soft as silver hammers falling
On sweet bells of golden metal'
Have youheard the silken rustic
Murmurng in the dark green forest,
Floating through the dim old arches
OF the green, and living temple,
And with rich voluptuous swellings
Beating high up in the tree tops?
Oft when lying meath the willows,
Meath the broodling, whispering willows,
have listened to their murmurs
As the wavy wind blew through them
Freighted with the perfumed offering
OF the glad night-loving flowers,
And this pleasant thought comes o'er me;
On each leaf sweet bells are tinkling,
Bells swing pendant from the branches,
And their sweet melodious throbbings
Beat upon the air so softly
As the dove's low note at evening.
have wandered through the gardens
When the guardian stars were watching
Purple groups of half-blown roses,
Bursting buds of blood red tulips,
Pinks, that waste their lives in sweetness,
And when dying, drown in perfume
And I've marked the slender lily,
With seeming heavenly longing
Lift her silver chalice upward,
An inverted bell of silver,
With tongue of gold, that's beating
A soft chorus to the music
of the stars that sing above it,
And the paleing of her beauty,
As it fades like some earth angel,
Oft excites the fond compassion
OF the gentle god of evening,
And he, wandering, sees her beauty
Fade like mist-wreaths in the NOR ming,
And he fills the offered chalce,
Pours rich wine from out the ether,
Fills it with the crystal dew drops.
All these nowors like harps are ringing,
(Those that bloom in silent night time,)
Every flower with b lis are loaded,
Every vine is throbbing music
From the bells hung on its tendrils,
And the leaves are Ginning with them.
Deep toned bells hang in the forests,
Bells that gush with mellow music,
Bells that sound, and sigh at evening,
(But are always still at noon-day,)
Bells whose deep sub-bass goes yelling
Through the woods in waves of richness,
Swelling as the mighty pedal
Of that ever breathing organs
Pressed by night winds huttering round it,
Sinking then in sobbing murmurs.
Softly stealing through the greenwood
Like o frightened bird at nightfall
Until folded mid the tree-tops
Dies mid sobbings of the pines.
Bells are strung from earth to heaven,
Strung on threads of silver starlight.
And the sweet vibrations thrilling
Beating downward through the ether,
Beating down from star to flower,
Beating from earth's stars to heavens,
Keep the trembling chords in motion
Ringing chimes for those that love them.