Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1876-02-05
THE BELLS OF LIMERICK.

The old bells that hung IN the tower
of the Limerick cathedral were made by
a young Italian after many years of
patient toll He was proud of his work,
aad when they were purchased by the
prior of neighboring convent ucar the
Lake Of Como, the artist invested the
profits of the sale in a pretty villa on
the margin of the lake, where he could
hear their .7hgeius music waited from
the convent cliff across the waters ut
morning, noon and night Here he
Intended 10 pass his life but this hap
piness was denied him. In one Of fthose
teudal broi!S which, whether civil or
foreign, are the undying worm in
failed land, he suffered the loss of his
all; and when the storm passed he
found himself without home, family,
friends and fortune. The convent had
been razed to the ground, aud the ch,j,.
AZURE of his handiwork, the tuueful
chime whose music had charmed his
listening ear for so many happy days ot
his past life had been carried away to
foreign laud. lie become a wandercr.
His hail grew white aud his heart
withered before he again found a rest.
ing place. In all these years of his
bitter DISSOLUTION the memory of the
music of his bells never lett him he
heard it in the forest and in the crowd
ell city, on the sea and by the banks of
the quiet stream in the basin Of tho
hills he heard it by day and when
night came, and troubled sleep, it
whispered to him soothingly Of peace
aud happiness. One day he met a
mariner from over the sea, who told
him story of n worderous chime Of
bells lie had heard in Ireland An in,u.
itiom told the artist that they were his
bells. lie journeyed and voyagcd
th!ther, sick and weary, and sailed up
the Shannon. The ship came Ia anch.
or in the port near Limerick, and he
took passage in small boat for tho
purpose OF reaching the city. Before
hiri the tall stecple OF st. Marys lifted
its turreted head above the mist and
smoke OF the old town. lie leaned
back YEARLY, yet with q happy light
beaming from his eyes. The angels
were whispering to him that his bells
were there. lie prayed: "Oh, let them
sound me loving welcome. Just one
note Of greeting, o bells and my pill
grimage is donc!'
1t was q beautiful evening. The mir
was like that Of his own Italy in the
sweetest time of the year. the death Of
the spring. The bosom of the river
was like a broad mirror, rejecting the
ratiues of bright gold that fleckcd the
blue sky, the towers, aud the streets OF
the old town ia its clear depths. Tho
lights of the city danced upon tho
wavelets that rippled from the boat nv
she glided along. Suddenly the still.
ness was broken. From ST. Mary s
tower there came n shower OF silver
sound, filling the air with music. Tho
boatman rested on their oars To listen.
The old Italian crossed his arms and
fixed his streaming eyes upon the tower.
The sound Of his bells bore To his heart
all the swse; memories Of his buried
past: home, friends, Kindred, all Az
last he was happy-too happy 10 speak,
too happy to breathe. When the
rowers sought TO arouse him, his face
was upturned 10 the tower, but his eyes
were closed The poor stranger had
breathed his last