The Legend of the Bell

Southland Times, Issue 9693, 6 December 1887, Page 4

The Legend of the B ell

Tia 'noon within the tower of Ihe bell The mallet atrikes it's graven metal sid9 And out upon the air the deep tones swell, Then break and die in echoes far and wide, And after each loud, Ranging, brazen tone Has rolled from dome above to floor below, There clearly sounds a sobbing, golden moan, Which endß in silver whispers faint and low. And thus it rings through all the changing days. And there is not a child who cannot tell In all tbe winding, Chinese city ways, This quaint old legend of tho wondrous ban. Five hundred yeara ago the august Ming Did order cast a beu of strongest mould That through the many coloured streets should ] ri Q &) And formed of iron, silver, brass and gold, flis worthy steward called each bellsmith there ; The moulds were formed, the metals fused with skill, The roaring fires were built and watched with care, And workers wrought with strong and ready will. But when the bell wae cast 'twas all in vain, The gold had scorned the Bilver ore and brass. The moulders wrought their weary task again, And once again it proved a shapeless mass. And then tbis direful message came one day : "Thou hast betrayed the trust I placed in thee, Take heed from this and hasten to obey." The steward had one daughter, fair to see, And good was she and true, as well as fair ; Aud when the meesage came so full of dread, Shb quickly sold her jewels rich and rare, j And isought a seer, who searched hia books ; and said : "A maiden 'B form must with the ores unite, Ere silver, gold and brass shall blend in one." The maid wf>nt home, her heart grown cold with fright, » And secret kept what Bhe bad heard and done. At last the third and fatal casting came, The lady with her maid stood by the door ; They caw the workmen feed the foriiace flame, i And watched the slowly whitening lake of ore, But e'er the master gave the sign to cast, " For thee, my father, see 1" the maiden cried , In birdlike note 3 above the roaring blast, Then sank beneath the glowing metal tide. They bore the father home with griet distraught While still the maid before the furnace stood, And held tae tiny golden shoe she caught, A a fell the mistress 'neath the molten flood. And yet in spite of all they cast the ball, Although they feared their work must useless prove ; Bnt, strange to say, they found no trace to tell Of her who gava her life with childlike love, And when the bell was cold the moulders fouud It fair and perfect, both in tint and form, And far above all other bells in sound, With tone like pealings from a summer storm. And when each, swi Hing tone has died away, And sharply sweet the silver note rings through,

'lis then the Chinese mothers softly aay : " The maid is calling, crying for her shoe."