by Cradock Newton.
Originally published in Temple Bar (Ward and Lock) vol.3 #11 (Oct 1861).
The lark was up and loud with the morn,
And the cowslip blossom cover'd the dells;
The Spring smiled out with sudden flushes,
And I read your thought in your tender blushes:
"Gloria Deo," rang Barnewood Bells;
"Gloria Deo, Gloria Deo,
Gloria Deo," rang Barnewood Bells.
The air was faint with the Summer blisses,
And full of the soft sonorous swells,
As again in the pause of our happy kisses,—
Too happy, sweet, for a life like this is,—
"Gloria Deo," rang Barnewood Bells;
"Gloria Deo, Gloria Deo,
Gloria Deo," rang Barnewood Bells.
The Autumn leaves lay sere by the river,
When false tongues drave us to cold farewells;
The evil angels were strong to sever,
And the morning of life was lost for ever:
"Gloria Deo," rang Barnewood Bells;
"Gloria Deo, Gloria Deo,
Gloria Deo," rang Barnewood Bells.
Now I thrust, with too idle weeping,
The frozen grass from the stone that tells
Where thou liest more blest than living—
Faithful to death, and in death forgiving:
"Gloria Deo," ring Barnewood Bells;
"Gloria Deo, Gloria Deo,
Gloria Deo," ring Barnewood Bells.