Vivos voco-Mortuos plango-Fulgura frango.
Fast, in its prison-walls
of earth,
Awaits the mould
of baked clay.
Up, comrades, up, and
aid the birth
The bell that
shall be born to-day!
Who
would honor obtain,
With
the sweat and the pain,
The praise that man gives to the
master must buy.-
But the blessing withal must descend
from on high!
And well an earnest
word beseems
The work the earnest
hand prepares;
Its load more light
the labor deems,
When sweet discourse
the labor shares.
So let us ponder-nor
in vain-
What strength
can work when labor wills;
For who would not the
fool disdain
Who neer
designs what he fulfils?
And well it stamps our
human race,
And hence the
gift to understand,
That man within the
heart should trace
Whateer
he fashions with the hand.
From the fir the fagot
take,
Keep it, heap
it hard and dry,
That the gathered flame
may break
Through the furnace,
wroth and high.
When
the copper within
Seeths
and simmers-the tin,
Pour quick, that the fluid that
feeds the bell
May flow in the right course glib
and well.
Deep hid within this
nether cell,
What force with
fire is moulding thus,
In yonder airy tower
shall dwell,
And witness wide
and far of us!
It shall, in later days,
unfailing,
Rouse many an
ear to rapt emotion;
Its solemn voice with
sorrow wailing,
Or choral chiming
to devotion.
Whatever fate to man
may bring,
Whatever weal
or woe befall,
That metal tongue shall
backward ring,
The warning moral
drawn from all.
See the silvery bubbles
spring!
Good! the mass
is melting now!
Let the salts we duly
bring
Purge the flood,
and speed the flow.
From
the dross and the scum,
Pure,
the fusion must come;
For perfect and pure we the metal
must keep,
That its voice may be perfect, and
pure, and deep.
That voice, with merry
music rife,
The cherished
child shall welcome in;
What time the rosy dreams
of life,
In the first slumbers
arms begin.
As yet, in Times
dark womb unwarning,
Repose the days,
or foul or fair;
And watchful oer
that golden morning,
The mother-loves
untiring care!
And swift the years
like arrows fly
No more with girls content
to play,
Bounds the proud boy
upon his way,
Storms through loud
lifes tumultuous pleasures,
With pilgrim staff the
wide world measures;
And, wearied with the
wish to roam,
Again seeks, stranger-like,
the father-home.
And, lo, as some sweet
vision breaks
Out from its native
morning skies
With rosy shame on downcast
cheeks,
The virgin stands
before his eyes.
A nameless longing seizes
him!
From all his wild
compassions flown;
Tears, strange till
then, his eyes bedim;
He wanders all
alone.
Blushing, he glides
whereer she move;
Her greeting can
transport him;
To every mead to deck
his love,
The happy wild
flowers court him!
Sweet hope-and
tender longing-ye
The growth of
lifes first age of gold;
When the heart, swelling,
seems to see
The gates of heaven
unfold!
O love, the beautiful and brief!
O prime,
Glory, and verdure, of lifes
summer time!
Browning oer,
the pipes are simmering,
Dip this wand
of clay within;
If like glass the wand
be glimmering,
Then the casting
may begin.
Brisk,
brisk now, and see
If
the fusion flow free;
If-(happy and welcome
indeed were the sign!)
If the hard and the ductile united
combine.
For still where the strong is betrothed
to the weak,
And the stern in sweet marriage
is blent with the meek,
Rings the concord harmonious,
both tender and strong
So be it with thee, if forever united,
The heart to the heart flows in
one, love-delighted;
Illusion is brief, but repentance
is long.
Lovely, thither are
they bringing.
With the virgin
wreath, the bride!
To the love-feast clearly
ringing,
Tolls the church-bell
far and wide!
With that sweetest holiday,
Must the May of
life depart;
With the cestus loosed-away
Flies illusion from the heart!
Yet love lingers lonely,
When passion is
mute,
And the blossoms may
only
Give way to the
fruit.
The husband must enter
The hostile life,
With struggle
and strife
To plant or to
watch.
To snare or to
snatch,
To pray and importune,
Must wager and venture
And hunt down
his fortune!
Then flows in a current the gear
and the gain,
And the garners are filled with
the gold of the grain,
Now a yard to the court, now a wing
to the centre!
Within sits
another,
The
thrifty housewife;
The mild
one, the mother-
Her
home is her life.
In its circle
she rules,
And the
daughters she schools
And
she cautions the boys,
With a bustling
command,
And a diligent
hand
Employed
she employs;
Gives order
to store,
And the
much makes the more;
Locks the chest and the wardrobe,
with lavender smelling,
And the hum of the spindle goes
quick through the dwelling;
And she hoards in the presses, well
polished and full,
The snow of the linen, the shine
of the wool;
Blends the sweet with the good,
and from care and endeavor
Rests never!
Blithe the master (where
the while
From his roof he sees
them smile)
Eyes the lands,
and counts the gain;
There, the beams projecting
far,
And the laden storehouse
are,
And the granaries bowed
beneath
The blessed golden
grain;
There, in undulating
motion,
Wave the cornfields
like an ocean.
Proud the boast the
proud lips breathe:-
My house is built
upon a rock,
And sees unmoved the
stormy shock
Of waves that
fret below!
What chain so strong,
what girth so great,
To bind the giant form
of fate?-
Swift are the
steps of woe.
Now the casting may
begin;
See the breach
indented there:
Ere we run the fusion
in,
Halt-and
speed the pious prayer!
Pull
the bung out-
See
around and about
What vapor, what vapor-God
help us!-has risen?-
Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps
forth from its prison!
What friend is like the might of
fire
When man can watch and wield the
ire?
Whateer we shape or work,
we owe
Still to that heaven-descended glow.
But dread the heaven-descended glow,
When from their chain its wild wings
go,
When, where it listeth, wide and
wild
Sweeps free Natures free-born
child.
When the frantic one fleets,
While no force can withstand,
Through the populous streets
Whirling ghastly the brand;
For the element hates
What mans labor creates,
And the work of his hand!
Impartially out from the cloud,
Or the curse or the blessing
may fall!
Benignantly out from the cloud
Come the dews, the revivers
of all!
Avengingly out from the cloud
Come the levin, the bolt,
and the ball!
Hark-a wail from the
steeple!-aloud
The bell shrills its voice to the
crowd!
Look-look-red
as blood
All
on high!
It is not the daylight that fills
with its flood
The
sky!
What a clamor awaking
Roars up through the street,
What a hell-vapor breaking.
Rolls on through the street,
And higher and higher
Aloft moves the column of fire!
Through the vistas and rows
Like a whirlwind it goes,
And the air like the stream from
the furnace glows.
Beams are crackling-posts
are shrinking
Walls are sinking-windows
clinking-
Children
crying-
Mothers
flying-
And the beast (the black ruin yet
smouldering under)
Yells the howl of its pain and its
ghastly wonder!
Hurry and skurry-away-away,
The face of the night is as clear
as day!
As
the links in a chain,
Again
and again
Flies the bucket from hand to hand;
High
in arches up-rushing
The
engines are gushing,
And the flood, as a beast on the
prey that it hounds
With a roar on the breast of the
element bounds.
To
the grain and the fruits,
Through
the rafters and beams,
Through the barns and garners it
crackles and streams!
As if they would rend up the earth
from its roots,
Rush
the flames to the sky
Giant-high;
And at length,
Wearied out and despairing, man
bows to their strength!
With an idle gaze sees their wrath
consume,
And submits to his doom!
Desolate
The place, and dread
For storms the barren bed.
In the blank voids that cheerful
casements were,
Comes to and fro the melancholy
air,
And sits despair;
And through the ruin, blackening
in its shroud
Peers, as it flits, the melancholy
cloud.
One human glance of grief upon the
grave
Of all that fortune gave
The loiterer takes-then
turns him to depart,
And grasps the wanderers
staff and mans his heart
Whatever else the element bereaves
One blessing more than all it reft-it
leaves,
The faces that he loves!-He
counts them oer,
See-not one look is missing
from that store!
Now clasped the bell within the
clay-
The mould the mingled metals
fill-
Oh, may it, sparkling into day,
Reward the labor and the skill!
Alas!
should it fail,
For
the mould may be frail-
And still with our hope must be
mingled the fear-
And, evn now, while we speak,
the mishap may be near!
To the dark womb of sacred earth
This labor of our hands is
given,
As seeds that wait the second birth,
And turn to blessings watched
by heaven!
Ah, seeds, how dearer far than they,
We bury in the dismal tomb,
Where hope and sorrow bend to pray
That suns beyond the realm of day
May warm them into bloom!
From the steeple
Tolls the bell,
Deep and heavy,
The death-knell!
Guiding with dirge-note-solemn, sad,
and slow,
To the last home earths weary wanderers
know.
It is that worshipped wife-
It is that faithful mother!
Whom the dark prince of shadows leads benighted,
From that dear arm where oft she hung delighted
Far from those blithe companions, born
Of her, and blooming in their morn;
On whom, when couched her heart above,
So often looked the mother-love!
Ah! rent the sweet homes
union-band,
And never, never more to come-
She dwells within the shadowy land,
Who was the mother of that
home!
How oft they miss that tender guide,
The care-the watch-the
face-the mother-
And where she sate the babes beside,
Sits with unloving looks-another!
While the mass
is cooling now,
Let the
labor yield to leisure,
As the bird upon
the bough,
Loose the
travail to the pleasure.
When the soft
stars awaken,
Each task be forsaken!
And the vesper-bell lulling the
earth into peace,
If the master still toil, chimes
the workmans release!
Homeward from the tasks of
day,
Through the greenwoods
welcome way
Wends the wanderer, blithe
and cheerly,
To the cottage loved so dearly!
And the eye and ear are meeting,
Now, the slow sheep homeward
bleating-
Now, the wonted shelter near,
Lowing the lusty-fronted steer;
Creaking now the heavy wain,
Reels with the happy harvest
grain.
While with many-colored leaves,
Glitters the garland on the
sheaves;
For the mowers work
is done,
And the young folks
dance begun!
Desert street, and quiet mart;-
Silence is in the citys
heart;
And the social taper lighteth;
Each dear face that home uniteth;
While the gate the town before
Heavily swings with sullen
roar!
Though darkness is spreading
Oer earth-the
upright
And the honest, undreading,
Look safe on the
night-
Which the evil man watches
in awe,
For the eye of the night
is the law!
Bliss-dowered!
O daughter of the skies,
Hail, holy order, whose
employ
Blends like to like
in light and joy-
Builder of cities, who
of old
Called the wild man
from waste and wold.
And, in his hut thy
presence stealing,
Roused each familiar
household feeling;
And, best of all
the happy ties,
The centre of the social
band,-
The instinct of the
Fatherland!
United thus-each helping
each,
Brisk work the countless hands
forever;
For naught its power to strength
can teach,
Like emulation and endeavor!
Thus linked the master with the
man,
Each in his rights can each
revere,
And while they march in freedoms
van,
Scorn the lewd rout that dogs
the rear!
To freemen labor is renown!
Who works-gives
blessings and commands;
Kings glory in the orb and crown-
Be ours the glory of our hands.
Long in these walls-long
may we greet
Your footfalls, peace and concord
sweet!
Distant the day, oh! distant far,
When the rude hordes of trampling
war
Shall scare the silent vale;
And where,
Now the sweet heaven,
when day doth leave
The air,
Limns its soft rose-hues
on the veil of eve;
Shall the fierce war-brand
tossing in the gale,
From town and hamlet shake the horrent
glare!
Now, its destined task
fulfilled,
Asunder break
the prison-mould;
Let the goodly bell
we build,
Eye and heart
alike behold.
The
hammer down heave,
Till
the cover it cleave:-
For not till we shatter the wall
of its cell
Can we lift from its darkness and
bondage the bell.
To break the mould, the master
may,
If skilled the hand
and ripe the hour;
But woe, when on its fiery
way
The metal seeks itself
to pour.
Frantic and blind, with thunder-knell,
Exploding from its shattered
home,
And glaring forth, as from
a hell,
Behold the red destruction
come!
When rages strength that has
no reason,
There breaks the mould before
the season;
When numbers burst what bound
before,
Woe to the state that thrives
no more!
Yea, woe, when in the citys
heart,
The latent spark to
flame is blown;
And millions from their silence
start,
To claim, without a
guide, their own!
Discordant howls the warning
bell,
Proclaiming discord
wide and far,
And, born but things of peace
to tell,
Becomes the ghastliest
voice of war:
Freedom! Equality!-to
blood
Rush the roused people
at the sound!
Through street, hall, palace,
roars the flood,
And banded murder closes
round!
The hyena-shapes (that women
were!),
Jest with the horrors
they survey;
They hound-they
rend-they mangle there-
As panthers with their
prey!
Naught rests to hollow-burst
the ties
Of lifes sublime
and reverent awe;
Before the vice the virtue
flies,
And universal crime
is law!
Man fears the lions
kingly tread;
Man fears the tigers
fangs of terror;
And still the dreadliest of
the dread,
Is man himself in error!
No torch, though lit from
heaven, illumes
The blind!-Why
place it in his hand?
It lights not him-it
but consumes
The city and the land!
Rejoice and laud the
prospering skies!
The kernel bursts
its husk-behold
From the dull clay the
metal rise,
Pure-shining,
as a star of gold!
Neck
and lip, but as one beam,
It
laughs like a sunbeam.
And even the scutcheon, clear-graven,
shall tell
That the art of a master has fashioned
the bell!
Come in-come in
My merry men-well
form a ring
The new-born labor christening;
And Concord
we will name her!-
To union may her heartfelt
call
In brother-love attune us
all!
May she the destined glory win
For which the master
sought to frame her-
Aloft-(all earths
existence under),
In blue-pavillioned heaven
afar
To dwell-the neighbor
of the thunder,
The borderer of the star!
Be hers above a voice to rise
Like those bright hosts in
yonder sphere,
Who, while they move, their Maker
praise,
And lead around the wreathed
year!
To solemn and eternal things
We dedicate her lips sublime!-
As hourly, calmly, on she swings
Fanned by the fleeting wings
of time!-
No pulse-no heart-no
feeling hers!
She lends the warning voice
to fate;
And still companions, while she
stirs,
The changes of the human state!
So may she teach us, as her tone
But now so mighty, melts away-
That earth no life which earth has
known
From the last silence can
delay!
Slowly now the cords
upheave her!
From her earth-grave
soars the bell;
Mid the airs of heaven
we leave her!
In the music-realm
to dwell!
Up-upwards
yet raise-
She
has risen-she sways.
Fair bell to our city bode joy and
increase,
And oh, may thy first sound be hallowed
to peace!
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