Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Holland: Vols. XIV–XV. 1876–79.
The Carillon of Antwerp Cathedral
By AnonymousI
Where the Scheldt first seeks the main,
Stands a quaint, old, gabled city,
Fashioned like a town of Spain.
Rich in shows of bygone time,
As on eyesight falls the sunshine,
Bursts the bright cathedral chime.
On December’s chilling blast,
On the dull blank ear of midnight,
Is that carillon sweetly cast,
Scattered with a hopeful care,
That the genial after-season
May produce some harvest there.
Startling, strange, and silent soon,
Lovely, even though neglected,
Like the light of crescent moon.
Where dim tapers light the dead,
Where the stranger seeks his chamber,
Steals that cadence overhead.
Where the air is foul with sin,
Where the lonely sick one waketh,
That old chime strays softly in.
Chiding tones that seldom cease,—
To the sad, in words of solace,
To the pure, in thoughts of peace.
Through each quarter of the town,
Through each day, and through each season,
Rains that frequent music down.
In still chambers of the brain,
At this moment, through the silence,
Breaks that magic sound again.
Soothing, gentle as its fall,
Is the ceaseless dole of mercy,
Unperceived, that comes to all.
As we count the beads of time,
By pure hopes, and aspirations
Sweeter than that minster chime.
To those benisons in the air,
As we tread life’s busy pathway,
That salute us everywhere.