[In these and others of the Flemish Towns, the Carillon, or chimes which have a most fantatic and delicate music, are played almost continually. The custom is very ancient.] AT ANTWERP there is a low wall Binding the city, and a moat Beneath, that the wind keeps afloat. You pass the gates in a slow drawl Of wheels. If it is warm at all The Carillon will give you thought. I climbed the stair in Antwerp church, What time the urgent weight of sound At sunset seems to heave it round. Far up, the Carillon did search The wind; and the birds came to perch Far under, where the gables wound. In Antwerp harbour on the Scheldt I stood along, a certain space Of night. The mist was near my face: Deep on, the flow was heard and felt. The Carillon kept pause, and dwelt In music through the silent place. At Bruges, when you leave the train, --A signing numbness in your ears,-- The Carillon's first sound appears Only the inner moil. Again A little minute through--your brain Takes quiet, and the whole sense hears. John Memmeling and John van Eyck Hold state at Bruges. In sore shame I scanned the works that keep their name. The Carillon, which then did strike Mine ears, was heard of theirs alike: It set me closer unto them. I climbed at Bruges all the flight The Belfry has of ancient stone. For leagues I saw the east wind blown: The earth was grey, the sky was white. I stood so near upon the height That my flesh felt the Carillon. |