These two from spheres so far apart had met
Across a stoop of ale, which like the river
Of classic eld can quench all mundane sorrow,
Make men forgetful of the past and morrow,
Upon whose bosom dreams all sunlit quiver,
Until it empties in a sea of jet.
Upon the sailor’s quick discovery
Of Count Sordino’s presence, he approached
Him with a courtsy very risible
And whispered that he had something to tell,
Which on their precious secret did encroach,
And asked him, come aside from company.
Sordino followed with a sense of fear,
That it was money which the rogue was after,
And cared but little for his muddled talk;
Soon on the dark, deserted garden-walk
They stood, where faint the hum and laughter
Of drinking men, fell on the listening ear.
In broken sentences, and low, the croon
Confided to Sordino something strange:
He had that very eve beheld the man,
Who brought the bells from France to old Ireland,
First on the street, then on a garden-bench,
Embracing a young lady, ’neath the moon.
Moreover, he had chanced to meet a fellow,
Who used to wear the cowl, in whilom days,
But had doffed cloth and everything religious,
And though his story was somewhat ambiguous,
He claims to know the chimes, and doth much praise
Their wondrous tones as very clear and mellow.
This tale engrossed Sordino’s mind intensely;
They entered, sought the monk, who half asleep
Sat by a table all alone; the two
Aroused him with a drink of better brew,
Now with the sailor he the best did reap
From the Count’s interest and liberality.
Sordino made agreement with these men
To go with him to Ireland, even that week,
Which they did promise for a goodly hire,—
For both declared, they knew the very spire,
Around whose golden cross his chimes did seek
Their flight up to the list’ning choirs of heaven.
XXXII
O, god of gold, whose universal sway
Is not the underworld, on the Plutonic shore,
And hideous, like that of Spencer’s dream,
But on our terra’s face, bright with the gleam
Of mid-day sun, thy power has ever more
Commanded human nature to obey!
Thou sittest not in gloomy woods and caves,
A loathsome creature with the hoarded pelf,
But in the palace and the mansion bright,
In marble temples large and fair, bedight,
A princely being, though controlled by Self,
To whom most men submit themselves as slaves.