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Translated by C. T. Brooks
WAS once an old bell-founder | |
| At Breslau in the town, | |
| A cunning master-workman, | |
| A man of great renown. | |
| Already, white and yellow, | 5 |
| He ’d cast full many a bell | |
| For churches and for chapels, | |
| God’s holy praise to swell. | |
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| And all his bells they sounded | |
| So full and clear and pure: | 10 |
| He poured his faith and love in, | |
| Of that all men were sure. | |
| But of all bells that ever | |
| He cast, was one the crown, | |
| That was the bell for sinners | 15 |
| At Breslau in the town. | |
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| In Magdalen Church tower | |
| The masterpiece is hung, | |
| And many a heart has melted | |
| Beneath its iron tongue. | 20 |
| How well the faithful master | |
| Upon his work had thought! | |
| By day and night how truly | |
| His cunning hand had wrought! | |
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| And when the hour has come now, | 25 |
| And all stands ready there, | |
| The form walled up and steady, | |
| The mixture bright and fair: | |
| Then calls he to the fire-watch | |
| His boy with earnest tone: | 30 |
| “I leave thee by the kettle | |
| A moment here alone; | |
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| “To nerve me for the casting | |
| With yet one drink I ’ll go; | |
| That gives the gluey bell-stuff | 35 |
| A full and even flow. | |
| “But mind me, boy, and touch not | |
| The stopple, now give heed: | |
| Else with thy life thou ’lt rue it, | |
| Rash child, the desperate deed!” | 40 |
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| The boy stands by the kettle, | |
| Peeps down into the glow: | |
| It bubbles, boils and billows, | |
| Runs wildly to and fro. | |
| And in his ears it hisses, | 45 |
| And in his blood it leaps, | |
| And now, in all his fingers, | |
| Toward the stopple creeps. | |
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| He ’s feeling of the stopple: | |
| Woe! he has turned it round! | 50 |
| What was ’t he did? He knows not; | |
| In terror flees the ground. | |
| He flies to meet his master, | |
| Confesses to his face | |
| The fault he has committed, | 55 |
| And will his knees embrace. | |
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| But scarce the boding master | |
| The boy’s first word has caught,— | |
| Impetuous anger swallows | |
| Each cool and sober thought. | 60 |
| It clenched his sharp knife for him, | |
| And through the boy’s heart ran; | |
| Then rushed he to the kettle | |
| Like a distracted man. | |
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| Perchance he yet may save it, | 65 |
| Still stop the rushing stream; | |
| But lo! the casting’s over, | |
| Gone is each globule’s gleam! | |
| He breaks the mould with trembling, | |
| And sees, yet fain would not, | 70 |
| The bell stands whole before him, | |
| Without a speck or spot. | |
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| The boy lies on the ground there, | |
| He sees his work no more; | |
| Ah, master, frantic master, | 75 |
| Thy thrust was all too sore! | |
| He yields him up to judgment, | |
| Himself accuses he: | |
| It moves the judge to pity | |
| The wretched man to see. | 80 |
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| Yet is there none can save him, | |
| And blood cries out for blood; | |
| Yet hears he his death-sentence | |
| With calm, unbending mood. | |
| And when the day has broken, | 85 |
| The day his doom shall seal, | |
| They offer for his solace | |
| The Lord’s last holy meal. | |
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| “I thank you,” says the master, | |
| “Dear gentlemen and true, | 90 |
| But ’t is another favor | |
| My heart desires of you. | |
| “Once would I hear, O, let me! | |
| The sound of my new bell! | |
| ’T is mine own hand hath made it: | 95 |
| Would know if ill or well.” | |
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| The old man’s prayer was granted, | |
| It seemed so small a thing | |
| To them, that his death hour | |
| His favorite bell should ring. | 100 |
| The master hears it tolling | |
| So full, so clear, so pure: | |
| His eyes with tears run over, | |
| For joy it must be, sure. | |
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| And lo! as if transfigured, | 105 |
| His fading eyeballs gleam: | |
| That sound to him hath spoken | |
| Far more than sound, I deem! | |
| And he has bowed his neck down | |
| Calmly to meet the stroke, | 110 |
| And, sure, death’s solemn promise, | |
| Life, following, hath not broke. | |
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| Ay, of all bells that ever | |
| He cast, is this the crown, | |
| The bell of Church St. Magdalen | 115 |
| At Breslau in the town. | |
| It was, from that time forward, | |
| Baptized the Sinner’s Bell: | |
| Whether it still is called so, | |
| Is more than I can tell. | 120 |
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