YOU can hear them as you go While the mules creep higher, higher Where the torrents overflow And each summit lifts a spire; Through the vales you hear them soaring In a silvery chant adoring— Hark, the bells of Roncevaux! Lone the proud old abbey stands Dreaming over lost Navarre; Stony lie the folded hands. Stony gaze by lamp and star They who lit the world of story With the soul's first glint of glory— 'Neath the bells of Roncevaux. Knightly comrades, row on row In their mountain shrine, forgotten By their feudal towns below,— There they lie—Fame's first-begotten— Helms collapsed and hauberks rust— Dust where all the stars are dust— Round the bells of Roncevaux. Through our hearts their visions steal Out of ancient midnights telling How they woke the Christmas peal, How their Easter chimes went swelling Through the springtime morns of old Ere the world was deaf and cold To the bells of Roncevaux. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...KEEPING UP WITH THE SIGNS by MADELINE DEFREES POETS ARE BORN NOT MADE by ROBERT FROST SYNOPSIS OF A FAILED POEM by JAMES GALVIN ECSTASY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE WILLOW by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |