Silver-copper booming clamour,

In the belfry, bells are ringing.
In the dawnlight, bells are ringing,
In the twilight's shining pallor.
Bells ring out with voice of thunder
Welcomed by the rays of sunshine
(Arrow-heads where fire glances),
Ringing fills the world's expanses.
Music floating to the skyline,
Poured through desert-lands of wonder.
Bearing dewdrops, forged from silver,
Flowers and grasses give a welcome
To those rays that, clear and gentle,
Lovely in the dewdrop mirror,
Set the rainbow garlands weaving,
So the bells were pealing, pealing.
With the bell-folk in the belfry
Lived a bell unlike all others,
Its voice throbbed with shades and quivers,
Magic freshets gushing beauty,
Filled with speaking all mysterious.
And its heart was filled with feeling,
Silver strings and golden music,
Over joys and sorrows brooding,
Now rejoicing and now grieving,
Shows the farewell hour approaching,
Now inspires a moment's meeting.
And they never sink to silence,
That bell's heartstrings, filled with booming,
Vault of heaven, earth so roomy,
And the sunlight's golden distance.
Every one reflects its impress
In the ringing, magic beauty.
And it echoed out like thunder,
Flooded heaven like a whirlwind,
Like a tempest filled with turmoil,
Poured across God's house of wonder
From a stormcloud, white snow swirling.
In its harmony united
With the flowers and grasses rustling,
With the herbs and flowers humming,
Feeling all, by all imprinted,
Ever pleasant with remembering.
In the night-time deaf, unspeaking,
When the moon's a brightness spreading
In the face of night's dark desert,
And from veils of tranquil sleeping
Stars appear, like hoarfrost threading,
Then it woke to life and, wondrous,
All alone the strings were pealing,
And the singing notes were stealing
On the moon, a joy tremendous,
With the choir of stars and heavens.
When it happened that the sexton
Woke the golden strings to singing,
Little clouds, their fleeces bringing,
Spread them lower in the heavens,
So that thunder sang within them.
Then, in depths of space unfathomed,
All was tranquil, stony silence,
Tempests dared not break the quiet,
For the moment of the bell-song
Struck the listening heart with goodness.
So it rang and summoned, booming,
Seeking for the good it called them,
So that sons were not defrauded
By their father. But the music
Came before the hour was ready.
Every time the world in wonder
Listened breathless to that pealing
Then the bells, with frightful squealing,
Drowned the music with shrill thunder,
Set their shrieking laughter squealing.
Jealousy and envy smarted,
That this bell should have such talent,
That the world, by darkness mantled,
By its song could be enlightened,
Like the sun on flower-petals.
And that bell, the seer and prophet,
By its bell-mates drowned and tortured,
Let the night pass unimportuned,
Left the darkness weighing onus,
Could not raise the luckless orphan.
Lost in an unequal contest,
The bell fought beyond its forces,
Song-waves perished in their courses,
And the shrieking was the master,
Empty bells, with lying voices.
And the crippled bell was heartsick,
For those songs of many voices,
Where in fathomless expanses,
Stars were listening in secret,
Seeking out a hidden meaning.
But the voice of truth and concord
In the soul will live, undying,
With the call of freedom crying,
Ever in the heart unconquered
Its bright destiny is shining.

Translated by Song of the Bellsera Rich