The Bells of Shandon

Sabbata pango; Funera plango; Solemnia clango. —Inscription on an Old Bell. WITH deep affection And recollection I often think on Those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, In the days of childhood, 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, That 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 glib rate Brass tongues would vibrate; But all their music Spoke naught like thine. For memory, dwelling On each proud swelling Of thy belfry, knelling Its bold notes free, Made the bells of Shandon Sound far 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 uproarious In the gorgeous turrets Of Notre Dame; But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings o’er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly. O, the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. There ’s a bell in Moscow; While on tower and kiosko 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 ’s an anthem More dear to me,— ’T is the bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.