CARILLON. IN the ancient town of Bruges, Low at times and loud at times, Then, with deep sonorous clangor But amid my broken slumbers Mingled with the fortune-telling Of the silent land of trances All else seemed asleep in Bruges, And I thought how like these chimes Are the poet's airy rhymes, All his rhymes and roundelays, His conceits, and songs, and ditties, From the belfry of his brain, Scattered downward, though in vain, |