Listen to the Poet's story
Of an ancient bell,
Freighted with its wreaths of glory,
With its fate as well:
On Alhambra's mosque it hung,
And the music that it rung
With an oscillating tongue,
Sounded through the Moorish citadel.
All the watch within the city,
Startled at the call,
Muster as the shrilly ditty
Thrills the stony hall;
'Twas no call to pious pray'r,
But the ring of wild despair,
From the minaret in air,
Urging guards to man the castle wall.
At the gates of proud Granada,
Fired by Passion's flame,
Islam and the fierce Crusader
Strove in field of Fame;
How the Crescent's waning light
Watched Alhambra's tower'd height!
But Castile's undaunted knight
Raised his banner there with loud acclaim.
While a truce was intervening,
Sweetly rose the chime,
As there was a Christian meaning
In the beating time;
For the Orders of the Cross,
Acting under martial force,
Changed the fane's religious course,
At the sweetest hour - the hour of prime.
There the bell had served its mission
Freighted with renown,
Sounding still a sweet transition
O'er the Moorish town;
But the chivalry of Spain,
Scaled that precipice again,
And, with awful might and main,
Brought the brazen trophy safely down.
Round its shape a wreath of chacing
Rose with wondrous art,
Labyrinths of vines were tracing
O'er the middle part;
There the life-like leaves unfold,
There the tender tendrils hold,
There the buds their bloom foretold,
There the sweetest odors seem to start!
Now a sturdy bough was wrested
From the living beech,
Which, of leaf and branch divested,
Looked of longer reach;
In its middle this was graced,
With the bell securely laced,
Then on brawny shoulders placed,
When its silence woke in tuneful speech.
Thus they bore the bell on shoulders
From the martial scene,
While the gathering beholders
Gazed with wond'ring mien;
Thus, till at the palace gate,
March the pride of Spanish state,
Where, with pomp and speech elate,
They present the trophy to their queen.
But there was a new ordeal,
Whither Fate's decree,
Drew the bell of Casa Real,
Irresistibly. -
So, when to Departure's wind,
Did Columbus' sails unbind,
This to him, the queen consign'd,
For his latest voyage o'er the sea.
On the Spanish Main protected
By the sounding wave,
Stood a shady grove selected
For the wealth it gave;
Here the crafty pioneer
Plied his gainful trade with care,
Here a chapel rose, and here
Peaceful dwelt the noble Carib brave.
On this shore Columbus landed
With the sacred bell,
Which the ready sailors handed
From the caravel,
While its music rose once more,
Breaking o'er the shelly shore,
Mingling with the breaker's roar,
Then resolving on the dying swell.
Now a sailor, unassisted,
Made a handy rope,
Of some sea-grass intertwisted
Into ample scope;
Thro' the ear the bell supplied,
This he drew with conscious pride,
Lapt it round, and firmly tied,
Leaving at the top the needed loop.
Thus prepared, the bell was lifted
From the sea-beat sand,
From the tangled sea-weed drifted
O'er the pebbly strand,
To the bluff, the beech along,
Where a jutting rock o'erhung,
Whence the leafless cactus sprung
Into beauty at Dame Nature's hand.
Straightway to the chapel, sprightly,
They pursued their way,
With the relic pealing lightly
Out its ancient lay;
There arrived, the sailors' might
Placed it on the chapel's height,
Where it was a welcome sight,
To the monk on that eventful day.
There its sacred numbers sounded
With a silver chime,
Till two centuries had bounded
Through the course of Time;
Till the Caribs met the fate,
Which no pen can e'er relate,
Nor the tongue enumerate
Half the horrors of the bloody crime:
Till the ax of the invader
Felled the timbers down,
And the hamlet of the trader
Rose a thrifty town;
Till a great Cathedral spire,
Hewn from living rock entire,
At the pious priest's desire,
Gave the bell a place of more renown.
Then was Carthagena humbled
By a pirate fleet,
With her pillaged buildings crumbled
To the dusty street;
What time they with flaming brand,
Burnt the city on the strand,
And, with reach of impious hand,
Seized the bell upon its sacred seat.
Thence their steps the vandals measure
Back without delay,
With the captured bell, the treasure
Of the dauntless day;
But when to the rising gale,
They unfurl'd their ample sail,
Fate was lurking on the trail,
Of the bark which bore the bell away.
For a while its summons sounded
On the ship afloat,
And the answering watches bounded
At the echoed note;
But this sacrilegious turn,
Heaven's eye did well discern,
When, with indignation stern,
Venging seas pursued the guilty boat.
It was night, a mystic feeling
Hung upon the hour,
Dark portentous clouds were stealing
Round with sullen lour;
One by one the stars expired,
Then the crescent moon retired,
When an instant flash was fired,
Lighting up the sea by heavenly pow'r.
Suddenly the storm impending
Bursts upon the deep,
Southern winds, amain descending,
O'er the waters sweep;
First the surface ruffles o'er,
Then the bigger billows roar,
Rolling to San Andreas' shore,
Where they dash against the rocky steep.
Andreas is an isle delightful,
Circling round whose strand,
Carribea washes sprightful
O'er the bleaching sand;
There beneath the sunlight sheen,
Verdant fields are ever green,
Blooming Beauty strows the scene,
And her fragrance is upon the land.
Thitherto the bark was driven,
By the winds away,
Cast upon the beach, and given
To the billow's play;
When, as far's the eye could ken,
Arms, sails, spoils and struggling men
Drifted on the surges, then
Disappeared beneath the splashing spray.
Soon as Morn, with purple brightness,
Paints the billow's crest,
(As the momentary whiteness
Curls upon its breast),
From the wreck they view the beach,
View the beaten vessel's breach,
And, with penitence, beseech
Heaven's aid, for Heaven they confest.
Neither was the hush unbroken
Of the morning air,
For a mystic note had spoken
Tones of sad despair;
Not the requiem of waves,
Where the rolling water laves,
Holding mass upon the graves,
Of the dead beneath its surface there:
'Twas a sweeter intonation,
With a plaintive swell,
Solemn as the replication
Of a fun'ral knell;
'Twas a tone upon the tide,
Verberating far and wide,
While the answering bluff replied;
'Twas the tocsin of Columbus' Bell!
Meantime from the isle, attracted
By the rising strain,
Natives view'd the scene enacted
There upon the main;
Saw the sunken ship in sight
Scarce above the water's height.
And the pirates in their plight
Ringing out the fated bell's refrain.
Quickly to the rescue hastened
An experienced crew,
With a surf-boat, which, unfastened,
From the shore withdrew,
Borne upon receding seas,
Bounding with the lightest ease,
As a leaflet in the breeze,
Till arriving at the wreck in view.
There the work of rescue tarried
Not till every hand,
Of surviving ones was carried
Safely to the land;
Not until their joys were crown'd,
With the Bell upon the ground,
Making heaven and earth resound,
Of its rescue on the stormy strand.
Now the air became sonorous
With rejoicing songs,
By a merry-making chorus
Of a thousand tongues,
While the bell was keeping time,
With the instrumental chime;
And the music rose sublime,
Where the minstrels gathered round in throngs.
And they gaze with admiration
On the molten art,
While a feeling of elation
Swells their every heart;
While a touch of Fancy's hue
Paints the thrilling scene anew,
With the pirate wreck in view,
And the surf-boat ready to depart.
On the shore, with mist surrounding,
Rose a mammoth rock,
Pounding which, the surge, rebounding,
Sent a frightful shock;
Reared upon its rugged back,
High above the beaten track,
Of the billow's fierce attack,
Stood a lighthouse made of granite block.
Thither gaily went the people,
With the rescued prize,
Where the tower, like a steeple,
Reaches to the skies;
There, when Evening's gates unbar,
Shines the beacon light afar,
Twinkling like the bright North-star,
And as grateful to the sailor's eyes.
There a rounded dome extended
O'er the circled hall,
Where Columbus' Bell, suspended,
Overlooked the wall;
And did ships in danger ride,
Wrapt in mist upon the tide,
There the warning was supplied,
Echoed from the tower to them all.
And the listening breakers wonder
At the melody,
Whilst their deep-resounding thunder
Beats eternally;
But when numbered with the past,
Two long ages rolled at last,
There appeared the rising mast
Of a Yankee bark upon the sea.
Veering landward, it was able
Soon to reach the shore,
Where, with many a line of cable,
They their vessel moor;
Newall, captain in command,
Leaping ankle-deep in sand,
Stood the first upon the strand,
Mingling with the folks he met afore.
Him a welcoming ovation,
Greeted of his friends,
When a shout of exultation
Suddenly attends,
Noising o'er the blue profound
And the pebbly beach around,
Where it dies a whisper'd sound,
As another merry shout ascends.
Now, at last, the bell was taken
From the lighthouse dome,
Other foreign shores to waken,
Other seas to roam;
Straight to whom the ship obey'd,
Was the treasured bell convey'd,
And upon his vessel laid,
When, at once, they spread their sails for home.
'Twas the sweetest hour of vesper,
When, with golden ray,
Does the heavenly sheen of Hesper
Light the traveler's way;
And the Pleiades arise,
Brightly glowing in the skies,
Pleasing to our wakeful eyes;
And the moon, new-risen, shone as day.
Forth the bark, o'er depths eternal,
Bounds with graceful ease,
Wafted onward by the vernal
Incense-bearing breeze,
Till the all-beholding sun
Thirteen times his course had run,
When his next revolving one
Showed New Jersey's coast o'erwashed by seas.
Soon the bark had reached its landing
On the welcome shore,
Where, with transport, Newall, standing,
Views the prospect o'er;
While the sailors with the bell
Trudge thro' seadrift, sand and shell,
Till they pull the present well
On the bank above old Ocean's roar.
Far from sea, there sits a village
Flanked by sun-lit fields,
Where, through industry, the tillage
Plentiful harvests yields;
There's a homely chapel there,
Unto which the saints repair,
And, with holy hymn and pray'r,
Sweetly praise Him who His people shields.
Thitherward, the sailors, marching,
Took the bell away,
Through a wood that, densely arching,
Intercepts the ray;
Where the spreading eglantine
Tangles with the columbine,
As, together, they resign
To the wood the sweetness of the day:
Where the hunting horn resounded
Through the sylvan scene,
As the stag, upstarting, bounded
From the bramble-screen,
With the hounds upon his heels,
Whose warm panting breath he feels,
Till his pace the rifle steals,
When he falls upon the trampled green:
Where the gay-plumed birds, resorting,
Wake the woodland air,
Or, in heavenly fields disporting,
Flood their warbling there;
Whilst, below, the streamlets stray,
Tinkling on their seaward way,
And in dimpled eddies play,
O'er the smooth-worn pebbles everywhere.
Thence through meadows, sweet with flowers,
They their path pursue,
Where the verdure, drenched with showers,
Glistened to the view;
Here the peasant's lowing pride
Cropped the mead till eventide,
Or, about, with buxom stride,
Gamboled where the crimson clover blew.
Next where cultured fields, extending,
Bathed in sunlight sheen,
Passed the weary sailors, wending
Through the spring-time scene;
There the plowman's cheerful song
Echoed in the fields among,
Thence, on airy wings, along
Through the vista fair of woodlands green.
Now, to Haleyville, rejoicing,
Came the sailor train,
With the bell their entrance voicing
In a loud refrain;
When the village people pour,
Unto Bethel chapel door,
In such numbers as before,
Never gathered at the holy fane.
Charming maids in all the glory,
Sweet of blooming prime,
Youth and he whose locks grew hoary
At the hand of Time,
Mothers, romping children - all
Answered the resounding call,
To the consecrated hall,
With a promptitude that was sublime.
Fame, fair herald, in preceding,
Had, with trumpet blare,
Sent the pleasing message speeding
Through the village air;
E'en the vocal hills around
Heard, and answered back the sound,
That Columbus' Bell was bound
For the village chapel standing there.
Now had Phoebus down the heaven
Rolled his rapid car,
And unbarred the gates of even
To the vesper star,
When the trusted sailor train,
With the bell without a stain,
Reached the little Christian fane,
From the ship which brought them from afar.
It was here the presentation
Of the bell was made,
To the waiting congregation,
In the twilight shade;
That the churchfolks' merry mood
Told of hearts all gratitude,
When the captain's gift they view'd,
On the chapel door-stone where it laid.
And the faithful sexton, climbing
Up the winding stair,
With the present, hung it, chiming,
In the belfry, there;
Where the stout-made crossbeam stood,
New hewn out the oak tree's wood,
That, erst, in the neighborhood,
Grew the tallest in the sunlit-air.
There its lofty notes, with meetness,
Gladful tidings tell,
When we feel a kindred sweetness
In our bosom swell;
While the faithful ones around
Come to worship with a bound,
As they hear the sacred sound,
Pealing from the old Columbus Bell.