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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE SILENT TOWER OF BOTTREAU by ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER

First Line: TINTADGEL BELLS RING O'ER THE TIDE
Last Line: COME TO THY GOD AT LAST!'
Subject(s): DISASTERS; SHIPWRECKS;
Tintadgel bells ring o'er the tide,
The boy leans on his vessel's side;
He hears that sound, and dreams of home
Soothe the wild orphan of the foam.
'Come to thy God in time!'
Thus saith their pealing chime:
'Youth, manhood, old age past,
Come to thy God at last.'

But why are Bottreaux' echoes still?
Her Tower stands proudly on the hill;
Yet the strange chough that home hath found,
The lamb lies sleeping on the ground.
'Come to thy God in time!'
Should be her answering chime:
'Come to thy God at last!'
Should echo on the blast.

The ship rode down with courses free,
The daughter of a distant sea:
Her sheet was loose, her anchor stored,
The merry Bottreaux bells on board.
'Come to thy God in time!'
Rung out Tintadgel chime:
'Youth, manhood, old age past,
Come to thy God at last!'

The pilot heard his native bells
Hang on the breeze in fitful swells;
'Thank God!' with reverent brow he cried,
'We'll make the shore with evening's tide.'
'Come to thy God in time!'
It was his marriage chime:
'Youth, manhood, old age past,'
His bell must ring at last.

'Thank God, thou whining knave! on land,
But thank, at sea, the steersman's hand' --
The captain's voice above the gale --
'Thank the good ship and ready sail.'
'Come to thy God in time!'
Sad grew the boding chime:
'Come to thy God at last!'
Boomed heavy on the blast.

Uprose the sea! as if it heard
The mighty Master's signal-word:
What thrills the captain's whitening lip?
The death-groans of his sinking ship.
'Come to thy God in time!'
Swung deep the funeral chime:
'Grace, mercy, kindness past,
Come to thy God at last!'

Long did the rescued pilot tell --
When grey hairs o'er his forehead fell,
While those around would hear and weep --
That fearful judgment of the deep.
'Come to thy God in time!'
He read his native chime:
'Youth, manhood, old age past,'
His bell rang out at last.

Still when the storm of Bottreaux' waves
Is wakening in his weedy caves:
Those bells, that sullen surges hide,
Peal their deep notes beneath the tide:
'Come to thy God in time!'
Thus saith the ocean chime:
'Storm, billow, whirlwind past,
Come to thy God at last!'



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