While the bell's clear notes rung through the air,
Did a few stray thoughts, as this ballad tells,
Come into my mind, about sundry bells.
'Is this 'dreadful bad'?' inquires a correspondent. Gentle writer, it is not dreadful, neither is it bad; and we appeal to the reader to decide. To our thought, it is as brave and wild a love-poem as we have seen for many a day:
To The King.
A Health to the King—my king!
But not in the ruby wine,
Too pale for the name I sing;
Too weak for such love as mine!
How shall I pledge thee, my king?