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As shining on a scaffold high they hung,—

It seemed to him, it was by angels sung,

So pure, so sweet, it did his soul entrance,

And with the tears of joy his eyes make dim.

The task was done, a work of perfect art;

And handsome was the price Sordino paid,

A fortune to the maker of those bells,

Of whom, henceforth, tradition nothing tells,

We know not where his future course was laid,

Nor when or where from life he did depart.

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The chimes found their exalted place within

A high cathedral tow’r, Sordino’s gift

To a beloved fane of Italy,

And that their melodies might always be

Within his hearing, he his home did shift

From country silence to the city’s din.

Where, like some voices from an unseen realm

Their music did announce each fleeting hour

To all the throngs which moved in streets below,

And as their harmonies upon the air did flow,

They seemed to have a superhuman pow’r

O’er listening hearts, yea, even to overwhelm

The meditative mind with such a joy

Of loveliness and beauty, that a tear