Classic and Contemporary Poetry
CHURCH BELLS, by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: The air is hushed; the street is holy ground Last Line: His heart lies warm among his triple hills! Subject(s): Bells; Boston; Churches; Cathedrals | ||||||||
THE air is hushed; the street is holy ground; Hark! The sweet bells renew their welcome sound; As one by one awakes each silent tongue, It tells the turret whence its voice is flung. The Chapel, last of sublunary things That shocks our echoes with the name of Kings, Whose bell, just glistening from the font and forge, Rolled its proud requiem for the second George, Solemn and swelling, as of old it rang, Flings to the wind its deep, sonorous clang; -- The simpler pile, that, mindful of the hour When Howe's artillery shook its half-built tower, Wears on its bosom, as a bride might do, The iron breastpin which the "Rebels" threw, Wakes the sharp echoes with the quivering thrill Of keen vibrations, tremulous and shrill; -- Aloft, suspended in the morning's fire, Crash the vast cymbals from the Southern spire; -- The Giant, standing by the elm-clad green, His white lance lifted o'er the silent scene, Whirling in air his brazen goblet round, Swings from its brim the swollen floods of sound; -- While, sad with memories of the olden time, The Northern Minstrel pours her tender chime, Faint, single tones, that spell their ancient song, But tears still follow as they breathe along. Child of the soil, whom fortune sends to range Where man and nature, faith and customs change, Borne in thy memory, each familiar tone Mourns on the winds that sigh in every zone. When Ceylon sweeps thee with her perfumed breeze Through the warm billows of the Indian seas; When -- ship and shadow blended both in one -- Flames o'er thy mast the equatorial sun, From sparkling midnight to refulgent noon Thy canvas swelling with the still monsoon; When through thy shrouds the wild tornado sings, And thy poor seabird folds her tattered wings, -- Oft will delusion o'er thy senses steal, And airy echoes ring the Sabbath peal! Then, dim with grateful tears, in long array Rise the fair town, the island-studded bay, Home, with its smiling board, its cheering fire, The half-choked welcome of the expecting sire, The mother's kiss, and, still if aught remain, Our whispering hearts shall aid the silent strain. Ah, let the dreamer o'er the taffrail lean To muse unheeded, and to weep unseen; Fear not the tropic's dews, the evening's chills, His heart lies warm among his triple hills! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VIRGIN IN GLASS by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN THE HOUR BETWEEN DOG AND WOLF: 3. FEEDING THE RABBITS by LAURE-ANNE BOSSELAAR EXPLICATION OF AN IMAGINARY TEXT by JAMES GALVIN DOMESDAY BOOK: FATHER WHIMSETT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HALF-AND-HALF by NAOMI SHIHAB NYE AT THE CHURCH DOOR by GEORGE SANTAYANA A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY [DECEMBER 16, 1773] by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES |
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