William was holding in his hand
The likeness of his wife—
Fresh, as if touched by fairy wand,
With beauty, grace, and life.
He almost thought it spoke—he gazed,
Upon the treasure still;
Absorbed, delighted, and amazed
He view'd the artist's skill.
"This picture is yourself, dear Ann,
Tis' drawn to nature true;
I've kissed it o'er and o'er again,
It is so much like you."
"And has it kiss'd you back, my dear?"
"Why—no—my love," said he;
"Then, William, it is very clear,
'Tis not at all like me!"
* * * * *
THE CHIMES OF S. S. PETER AND PAUL.
Ring out, sad bells, ring out
Melody to the twilight sky,
With echoes, echoing yet
As along the shore they die;
Chiming, chiming,
Sweet toned notes upon the heart
That one can ne'er forget.
Ring louder! O louder!
Until the distant sea
Shall send thy clear vibrations
Dying back to me;
Tolling, tolling,
Beautiful, trembling notes
Of sad sweet melody.
Ring, ring, ring, a merry Christmas
And a glad New Year;
Ring on Easter morning
And at the May-day dear;
Fling, fling
Thy tones over woodland ways
All the hills adorning.
At the joyous marriage,
And at the gladsome birth
Fling thy silvery echoes
Over all the earth,
But knell, O knell
When death, the shadowy spectre
Shall kiss the lips of mirth
O blessed bells, silver bells,
Thy notes are echoing still
Like the song of an ebbing tide,
Or a mournful whip-poor-will.
As he sings, sings,
In the crimson sunset light
That dies on the burnished hill
Then ring, O softly ring
Musical deep-toned bells;
Till harmony, sweet harmony
Throughout the woodland swells.
To bring, faintly bring,
Thy dying echoes back to me,
Over fields and fells,
Bells, bells, bells.