And in my breast shaped her a nest, safe and warm-lined with love,
"Not all the bells in Christendom, if rung with fervent might,
That happy day in janglings gay had told my joy aright.
"As up the aisle my bride I led in that triumphant hour,
I ached to hear some wedding-cheer clash from the minster tower.
"Nor chime nor tower the minster had; so in my soul I sware,
Come loss, come let, that I would set church-bells a-ringing there
"Before a twelvemonth. But ye know what forays lamed the land,
How seasons went, and wealth was spent, and all were weak of hand.
"And then the yearly harvest failed ('twas when my boy was born);