For he knows he can trust their clear 'Ding-dong!'
Of deified bells, like Bel of old,
With silver tongues and a ring of gold;
While the many who run at their silvery call,
Never reach the goal—d; but tire and fall!
Of modest bells, by the river's side,
As they meekly hang o'er the liquid tide;
But are tongueless all, and their changes few,
For they ever appear in a dress of blue.
Of modern Belles, which the world well knows,