The Lay of the Bell


 * The Lay of the Bell
 * Vivos voco – Mortuos plango – Fulgura frango.
 * (I celebrate the living. I mourn the dead. I break the lightning.)


 * Master:


 * Firmly walled within the earth,
 * Burnt of loam, the frame doth stand;
 * Today the bell must have its birth;
 * Brisk, my comrades, be at hand!
 * From the heated brow
 * Down the sweat must flow,
 * If praise to the master shall be given;
 * But the blessing comes from heaven.


 * An earnest word doth well betide
 * When we prepare for earnest deeds,
 * By good discourse accompanied
 * Then labour cheerfully proceeds.
 * So let us carefully now scan
 * Of feeble strength what are the fruits;
 * One must despise the wretched man,
 * Who, unreflecting, executes.
 * For this it is that man doth grace,
 * Hereto he hath power to understand,
 * That he, in his heart's core, may trace
 * The type of his creative hand.


 * Master:


 * Take ye wood of the pine-stem,
 * But be sure that 'tis right dry,
 * That the inward pent-up flame
 * Through the furnace throat may fly.
 * Melt the copper down!
 * Quick! the tin bring on!
 * That the tough bell metal so
 * Properly may fuse and flow.


 * What now with fire's assisting power
 * In this deep pit we fashion thus,
 * Loud from the belfry's lofty tower
 * Shall one day testify of us;
 * And many a man shall hear its tone,
 * For it shall last in after-time,
 * And shall with the afflicted moan,
 * And with devotion's chorus chime.
 * Whatever to earth's lowly son
 * Aye-changing destiny may bring,
 * Shall strike on its metallic crown,
 * And edifying thence shall ring.


 * Master:


 * Lo! I see white bubbles spring!
 * Good! the mass is fused at last.
 * Let us in the potash fling,
 * That will quickly aid the cast.
 * From scum all pure and free
 * Must the mixture be;
 * That from metal clean and round
 * Clear and full the voice may sound.


 * For with its joyous festal tone
 * The dear-loved infant it doth greet,
 * Life's path when first it enters on,
 * Lapped in the arms of slumber sweet;
 * The lot, or dark, or bright, of whom
 * As yet rests hidden in time's womb.
 * Maternal love with tender yearning
 * Is watching o'er his golden morning –
 * The years fly on as arrows fleet.


 * From the girl the proud boy rushes forth;
 * He wildly storms into life's danger;
 * On wanderer's staff roams o'er the earth –
 * To his father's home returns, a stranger.
 * And glorious in the pride of youth,
 * Even as a form from heaven's height,
 * Her cheeks deep-dyed with bashful truth,
 * The virgin stands before his sight.


 * Then doth a nameless longing seize
 * His youthful heart; alone he rambles;
 * The frequent tear breaks from his eye;
 * He shuns his brethren's noisy gambols;
 * Blushing, he follows in her track,
 * And is but by her greeting blest;
 * And to adorn his love brings back
 * From flowery meads the loveliest.


 * O tender yearning! O sweet hope!
 * Of love the golden age is this;
 * The eye doth see the heavens ope;
 * The heart doth revel in deep bliss.
 * Oh! that it ever green might prove,
 * That beauteous season of young love.


 * Master:


 * Already how the pipes are browned!
 * This little staff I now dip in;
 * If glazed over it be found,
 * Then the casting may begin.
 * Hither, comrades, hie!
 * Quick the mixture try;
 * If the pliant with the brittle
 * Join to make the proper metal.


 * For then a perfect tone we find,
 * When soft and hard are well combined,
 * The mild united with the strong.
 * Whoe'er would form eternal bonds
 * Should weigh if heart to heart responds.
 * Folly is short – repentance long.


 * Mid the bridal tresses slinging
 * Plays the virgin garland bright,
 * When the clear toned church bells ringing
 * To the festive scene invite.
 * Ah! Life's fairest festival
 * Closes also life's young May;
 * With the girdle, with the veil,
 * The fine illusion's torn away.


 * Passion may fly,
 * Love should endure;
 * The blossom may die,
 * The fruit shall mature;
 * The man must abroad
 * Into hostile life,
 * Mid labor and strife,
 * With craft and with pain,
 * Must gather and gain,
 * Must venture and stake,
 * Good luck to o'ertake.
 * Then endless wealth rushes in, like a stream,
 * With costly possessions the granaries teem,
 * The space is extended – enlarged the abode:
 * And indoors governs
 * The modest housewife,
 * The mother of children,
 * And wisely doth steer
 * The domestic sphere;
 * And schooleth the girls,
 * And ruleth the boys;
 * And plies without end
 * Her diligent hand;
 * And the stock doth enlarge
 * By her orderly charge;
 * And fills with treasures the scent-breathing chests;
 * And the thread round the whirring spindle she twists;
 * And the bright polished coffer she storeth full
 * With snowy white linen, and shimmering wool;
 * The useful with beauty and brightness investing,
 * And never resting.


 * And the father, with cheerful look,
 * From his home's far-seeing roof,
 * Reckons o'er his flourishing stock;
 * The lofty poles of the stacks discerns,
 * And the well-filled spaces of the barns,
 * And the treasure-laden granaries,
 * And the cornfields' waving seas.
 * Boasting, he gazes round,
 * "Firm as the very ground,
 * Spite of misfortune's cross,
 * Stands the wealth of my house."
 * But with the powers of destiny
 * No lasting band may woven be;
 * And misfortune strideth swift.


 * Master:


 * Good! the cast may be begun,
 * Well-jagged doth the breach appear;
 * Yet, before we let it run,
 * Breathe ye first a pious pray'r.
 * Strike the stopper loose!
 * God preserve the house!
 * Shooting into the hanger's bow
 * The fire-brown billows reeking flow.


 * Beneficent is fire's strong might
 * When man subdues and watches it;
 * Whate'er with art or toil he does,
 * Unto this heavenly power his owes;
 * But dread this heavenly power grows,
 * When, breaking from its fetters loose,
 * On its own track it ranges wild,
 * Nature's free and daring child.
 * Woe! when it, from bondage freed,
 * When nought its increase can withstand,
 * Through streets alive with crowds doth haste,
 * Whirling its enormous brand;
 * For the elements detest
 * Every work of human hand.
 * From the cloud
 * Blessings pour; –
 * The rain doth shower; –
 * From the cloud, undistinguishing,
 * Lightnings spring.
 * Hark! from the tower that wailing peal!
 * 'Tis the 'larum-bell!
 * Blood-red, lo!
 * Are the skies!
 * That is not the daybreak's glow!
 * Hark! what noise,
 * Along the streets!
 * Smoke waves up!
 * Fiery columns flickering rise!
 * Through the streets' long lines it flies,
 * And with the wind in swiftness vies.
 * As from furnace jaws out-reeking,
 * Glows the hot air; beams are creaking,
 * Windows jarring, pillars sundering,
 * Children screaming, mothers wandering,
 * Cattle lowing
 * 'Neath the ruin.
 * All is hurry, rescue, flight;
 * Clear as daylight gleams the night;
 * Thro' the long and emulous band
 * Of many a hand
 * Flies the bucket; arching high
 * Water-streams from engines fly;
 * Howling, on the storm-blasts hie,
 * With the roaring flame to meet;
 * Crackling in the arid wheat
 * It falleth; in the granary,
 * In the spars and rafters dry;
 * And with mighty blast, as though
 * 'Twould tear away, in violent flight,
 * With itself the earth's own weight,
 * It into heaven's height doth grow,
 * Giant-great!
 * In hopeless state,
 * Man succumbs to strength divine,
 * And amazed and supine
 * Sees his handyworks laid low.
 * Bare and burnt
 * Is the space,
 * The wild storms' rough resting-place.
 * In the desolate window-cells
 * Horror broods;
 * And from heaven the lofty clouds
 * Peer within.


 * One look – the last –
 * Tow'rds the tomb
 * Of his home,
 * Doth the man behind him cast –
 * Then cheerful grasps his staff to roam;
 * Whate'er the fire's rage hath o'erthrown,
 * One comfort sweet remains unmoved,
 * He counts the heads of his beloved,
 * And lo! not one dear head is lost.


 * Master:


 * 'Tis received within the Earth;
 * The mould it happily doth fill;
 * Will it issue fairly forth,
 * To requite our toil and skill?
 * If the cast should fail –
 * Should the mould prove frail!
 * Ah! perhaps while hoping thus
 * Mischance e'en now hath stricken us.


 * To the dark womb of holy earth,
 * Do we our handywork confide;
 * The sower too confides his seed,
 * And hopes that it shall yet shoot forth
 * To bless – if heaven has so decreed.
 * Far costlier seed do we commit
 * In sorrow to the earth's dark womb,
 * And hope that, from the coffin, it
 * May blossom to a fairer doom.


 * From the tower
 * Tolls the bell,
 * Dull and heavy,
 * The funeral knell;
 * Sad its melancholy notes convey
 * Some poor wand'rer on the long last way.


 * Ah! it is the wife, the dear one!
 * Ah! it is the tender mother!
 * Whom the gloomy Prince of Shades
 * From her mate's embraces leads;
 * From the group of children dear,
 * Which blooming unto him she bare;
 * Which growing on her faithful breast,
 * She watched with a mother's interest.


 * Ah! of home each tender band
 * Now for evermore is loose;
 * For she dwells in the shadow-land,
 * Who was the mother of the house;
 * Her faithful rule has passed away,
 * Her care no more shall watchful prove;
 * In the orphaned place shall sway
 * Henceforth the stranger, void of love.


 * Master:


 * While the bell is cooling now,
 * Rigorous toil may have its rest;
 * As birds gambol on the bough,
 * Each may sport as likes him best.
 * When winking stars appear,
 * Freed from every care,
 * The workman hears the vespers toll,
 * Doubts still vex the master's soul.


 * In the wild forest's distant gloom,
 * The wanderer with cheerful steps
 * Hastes to his dear cottage-home.
 * Bleating homeward went the flocks;
 * And the glossy
 * Broadly-fronted herds of oxen
 * Come on lowing,
 * To fill their wonted home-stalls going.
 * Heavily in
 * Reels the wagon,
 * Harvest laden;
 * Of varied dies
 * The garland lies
 * The sheaves upon;
 * And the youthful band of reapers
 * To the dance hath flown.
 * Street and market grow more still;
 * Round the candle's social flame,
 * All house-dwellers meet together,
 * And the town gate closes gnarring.


 * The earth doth dight
 * Herself in black;
 * But the safe burgher at the night
 * Feels no awe,
 * Which fearful wakes the guilty wight,
 * For still watchful is the eye of law.


 * Holy Order! blissful child
 * Of Heaven! in union free and mild
 * And joyous, she hath equals bound;
 * She the first did cities found;
 * And therein from the waste plain
 * Called unsocial, savage man;
 * Entered in the rugged hut,
 * Its inmates gentler manners taught,
 * And wove that best and dearest band,
 * The vital love of fatherland.


 * Thousand active hands bestir;
 * In cheerful league each other aid,
 * And, in fiery movement, are
 * All the powers of art displayed.
 * Man and master calmly rest,
 * Holy freedom their reliance;
 * Each in his own place is blest,
 * To the scorner bids defiance.
 * Labor is the burgher's pride,
 * Success, of industry the prize;
 * The king by pomp is dignified,
 * Us our hands' work dignifies.


 * Gentle concord!
 * Kindly peace!
 * Ah! tarry, tarry,
 * Friendly over this our town!
 * Never may the day appear,
 * When the hordes of rugged war
 * Riot thro' this tranquil valley;
 * When the heavens,
 * Whence the evening's blushes mild
 * Lovely beam,
 * Shall, with conflagration wild
 * Of towns and hamlets, frightful gleam.


 * Master:


 * Now the mould we may destroy,
 * It hath answered its intent;
 * Let us feast both heart and eye
 * On our task's accomplishment.
 * Swing the hammer, swing!
 * Till the mantle spring!
 * Ere the bell rise from below,
 * Must the frame to pieces go.


 * The master may break up the frame
 * With prudent hand at fitting hour;
 * But woe! whene'er, in brooks of flame,
 * Itself shall free the flowing ore,
 * Blind-raging, with the crash of thunder,
 * It springs in air the bursten house;
 * And, as from hell-jaws wide asunder,
 * Blazing destruction forth it spews.
 * Where rude and senseless powers prevail
 * There form and shape wilt ever fail;
 * To free themselves when nations strive,
 * The common weal can never thrive.


 * Woe! when in cities' womb hath lain
 * The fuel heaped by slow degrees,
 * The people, shattering their chain,
 * At self-relief doth madly seize.


 * Then at the ropes doth uproar pull,
 * Till, hallowed but to peaceful chimes,
 * The bell with hideous clang doth howl,
 * The signal to revolt and crimes.
 * "Freedom! Equality!" they call –
 * The fearful burgher grasps his arms;
 * The streets are filled, the market-hall –
 * On all sides prowl the murderous swarms.
 * Women into hyaenas start,
 * Disgustingly with horror jest;
 * With panther-teeth their victims' heart
 * They tear, yet quivering, from the breast.
 * Nought holy is there more; all ties
 * Of pious shame are rent in twain;
 * The bad of the good the place supplies,
 * And freely all the vices reign.
 * To wake the lion is perilous;
 * Destructive is the tiger's tooth;
 * But fearfullest of fears to rouse
 * Is Man in his delirious wrath.
 * Woe's them, who heaven's torch of light
 * Unto the ever-blind would trust;
 * It lights not him; can but ignite,
 * And lands and cities burns to dust.


 * Master:


 * Joy unto me God hath given!
 * See! how like a star of gold,
 * From its shell, all bright and even,
 * The metal kernel doth unfold.
 * From helve to crown, the ray
 * Like sunny glance doth play:
 * And the neat armorial shield
 * Doth credit to the workman yield.


 * Come in! Come in!
 * Comrades all, and close the ring,
 * To aid at the bell's christening;
 * Concordia is the name we bring.
 * In union's cordial harmony her summons
 * Shall oft-times congregate the loving commons.
 * This office let her hence fulfil,
 * The purpose of the master's will!
 * High in the heavens' blue tent away,
 * Above our lowly earth-life here,
 * The thunder's neighbor she shall sway,
 * And border on the starry sphere.
 * A voice shall she be from above,
 * Like the bright constellations' throng,
 * Who praise their maker as they move,
 * And lead the wreathed year along.
 * Only to grave and lasting things,
 * Be consecrate her metal chime;
 * And hourly with his rapid wings,
 * Shall she be touched by flying time.
 * A tongue to destiny shall she lend;
 * Heartless herself to joy or grief,
 * Still with her swing let her attend
 * Upon the changeful game of life.
 * And as the sounds which forth she casts,
 * In mighty tones, on the ear decay;
 * So let her teach that nothing lasts –
 * That all things earthly die away.


 * Master:


 * Now, with the power of the rope,
 * Rock the bell from out the ground;
 * Into the air let her mount up,
 * Into the heavenly realm of sound!
 * Pull ye! pull ye! heave!
 * She doth move – doth wave!
 * May she forebode us happiness –
 * May her first chime utter – peace.

Das Lied von der Glocke (1854) Kello-laulu La Chanson de la cloche