The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume Ii Part 12

But the Bell began to throb with the fear Of bringing his house about his one ear; And his people came round it, quite a throng, To b.u.t.tress the walls and make them strong: A full month he sat, and felt like a mome Not daring to shout his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_

Said the Owl to himself, and hissed as he said, "I trust in my heart the old fool is dead!

No more will he scare church-mice with his bounce, And make them so thin they're scarce worth a pounce!

Once I will see him ere he's laid in the loam, And shout in his ear _Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!_"

"Hoo! hoo!" he cried, as he entered the steeple, "They've hanged him at last, the righteous people!

His swollen tongue lolls out of his head!

Hoo! hoo! at last the old brute is dead!

There let him hang, the shapeless gnome, Choked with a throatful of _Bing, Bang, Bome!_"

He fluttered about him, singing _Too-whoo!_ He flapped the poor Bell, and said, "Is that you?

You that never would matters mince, Banging poor owls and making them wince?

A fig for you now, in your great hall-dome!

_Too-whit_ is better than _Bing, Bang, Bome!_"

Still braver he grew, the downy, the dapper; He flew in and perched on the k.n.o.b of the clapper, And shouted _Too-whoo!_ An echo awoke Like a far-off ghostly _Bing-Bang_ stroke: "Just so!" he cried; "I am quite at home!

I will take his place with my _Bing, Bang, Bome!_"

He hissed with the scorn of his grand self-wonder, And thought the Bell's tremble his own great thunder: He sat the Jove of creation's fowl.-- _Bang!_ went the Bell--through the rope-hole the owl, A fluffy avalanche, light as foam, Loosed by the boom of the _Bing, Bang, Bome!_

He sat where he fell, as if he had meant it, Ready for any remark anent it.

Said the eldest Owlet, "Pa, you were wrong; He's at it again with his vulgar song!"

"Child," said the Owl, "of the mark you are wide: I brought him to life by perching inside."

"Why did you, my dear?" said his startled wife; "He has always been the plague of your life!"

"I have given him a lesson of good for evil: Perhaps the old ruffian will now be civil!"

The Owl sat righteous, he raised his comb.

The Bell bawled on, _Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!_

A MAMMON-MARRIAGE.

The croak of a raven h.o.a.r!

A dog's howl, kennel-tied!

Loud shuts the carriage-door: The two are away on their ghastly ride To Death's salt sh.o.r.e!

Where are the love and the grace?

The bridegroom is thirsty and cold!

The bride's skull sharpens her face!

But the coachman is driving, jubilant, bold, The devil's pace.

The horses s.h.i.+vered and shook Waiting gaunt and haggard With sorry and evil look; But swift as a drunken wind they staggered 'Longst Lethe brook.

Long since, they ran no more; Heavily pulling they died On the sand of the hopeless sh.o.r.e Where never swelled or sank a tide, And the salt burns sore.

Flat their skeletons lie, White shadows on s.h.i.+ning sand; The crusted reins go high To the crumbling coachman's bony hand On his knees awry.

Side by side, jarring no more, Day and night side by side, Each by a doorless door, Motionless sit the bridegroom and bride On the Dead-Sea-sh.o.r.e.

_A SONG IN THE NIGHT._

A brown bird sang on a blossomy tree, Sang in the moons.h.i.+ne, merrily, Three little songs, one, two, and three, A song for his wife, for himself, and me.

He sang for his wife, sang low, sang high, Filling the moonlight that filled the sky; "Thee, thee, I love thee, heart alive!

Thee, thee, thee, and thy round eggs five!"

He sang to himself, "What shall I do With this life that thrills me through and through!

Glad is so glad that it turns to ache!

Out with it, song, or my heart will break!"

He sang to me, "Man, do not fear Though the moon goes down and the dark is near; Listen my song and rest thine eyes; Let the moon go down that the sun may rise!"

I folded me up in the heart of his tune, And fell asleep with the sinking moon; I woke with the day's first golden gleam, And, lo, I had dreamed a precious dream!

_LOVE'S HISTORY_.

Love, the baby, Crept abroad to pluck a flower: One said, Yes, sir; one said, Maybe; One said, Wait the hour.

Love, the boy, Joined the youngsters at their play: But they gave him little joy, And he went away.

Love, the youth, Roamed the country, quiver-laden; From him fled away in sooth Many a man and maiden!

Love, the man, Sought a service all about; But they called him feeble, one They could do without.

Love, the aged, Walking, bowed, the shadeless miles, Read a volume many-paged, Full of tears and smiles.

Love, the weary, Tottered down the shelving road: At its foot, lo, Night, the starry, Meeting him from G.o.d!

"Love, the holy,"

Sang a music in her dome, Sang it softly, sang it slowly, "Love is coming home!"

THE LARK AND THE WIND.

In the air why such a ringing?

On the earth why such a droning?

In the air the lark is singing; On the earth the wind is moaning.

"I am blest, in sunlight swinging!"

"Sad am I: the world lies groaning!"