Poems (Southey)/Volume 1/To the Chapel Bell
TO THE
CHAPEL BELL.
"Lo I, the man who erst the Muse did askHer deepest notes to swell the Patriot's meeds,Am now enforced, a far unfitter task,For cap and gown to leave my minstrel weeds;"For yon dull noise that tinkles on the airBids me lay by the lyre and go to morning prayer.
Oh how I hate the sound! it is the KnellThat still a requiem tolls to Comfort's hour;And loth am I, at Superstition's bell,To quit or Morpheus or the Muse's bower:Better to lie and dose, than gape amain,Hearing still mumbled o'er, the same eternal strain.
Thou tedious herald of more tedious prayers,Say hast thou ever summoned from his rest,One being awakening to religious cares?Or rous'd one pious transport in the breast?Or rather, do not all reluctant creepTo linger out the hour, in listlessness or sleep!
I love the bell, that calls the poor to prayChiming from village church its chearful sound,When the sun smiles on Labour's holy-day,And all the rustic train are gather'd round,Each deftly dizen'd in his Sunday's bestAnd pleas'd to hail the day of piety and rest.
Or when, dim shadowing o'er the face of day,The mantling mists of even-tide rise slow,As thro' the forest gloom I wend my way,The minster curfew's sullen roar I know;I pause and love its solemn toll to hear,As made by distance soft, it dies upon the ear.
Nor not to me the unfrequent midnight knellTolls sternly harmonizing; on mine earAs the deep death-fraught sounds long lingering dwellSick to the heart of Love and Hope and FearSoul-jaundiced, I do loathe Life's upland steepAnd with strange envy muse the dead man's dreamless sleep.
But thou, memorial of monastic gall!What Fancy sad or lightsome hast thou given!Thy vision-scaring sounds alone recallThe prayer that trembles on a yawn to heaven!And this Dean's gape, and that Dean's nasal tone,And Roman rites retain'd, tho' Roman faith be flown.1793.