The skylark, lavishing its melody Upon the freedom of the airy height, Did carol from the lofty blue so long, That not of earth but heaven seemed its song, An Ariel amid the dazzling light, Who thrilled the heart of man with ecstasy.
Sordino harkened to this happy flood Of music, and he saw his servant boy Gaze upward, like the holy men that day, When Christ ascended, for it did allay His sorrows, and like theirs, restore his joy, Since skylark song is in the English blood.
For have not Wordsworth and great Shelley proven That none it stirs just like the British heart, To whom the lark gave immortality, When it inspired them with its poesy, And made their odes the acme of their art, Creations from Apollo’s texture woven?
Sordino’s mind, however, at that hour, Lacked the repose which was on land and sea; And without mood no music doth arrest,-- For by an eagerness he was possest, To know in truth if this the shore might be, Which held his treasure in Cathedral tower.
The fire of his Italian blood awoke, Though he had aged so much upon this journey, He longed to leave the ship, and pass along The river, which was famous made in song, By the immortal Moore, and quaint Mahoney, Whose “Shannon Bells” remain a master-stroke.
Sordino’s wish, to be the first to land, Was granted, and a boat placed to his service, Manned by two sailors and the monk and page, The former only did the oars engage; Sordino, in the stern, sat like a dervise, In musings deep, with head posed on his hand.
No finer vista could itself unfold Than that which burst upon his dreamy eye, As full in view the city did appear, A sight which drew from weary hearts a tear,-- A city glimmering twixt sea and sky, With citadels and shrines, even then, so old.
The sailors left off rowing and gave way To dreaming on the scene, until a spell Possest them all, and silent did they rest Upon the river’s calm, translucent breast, When all at once the clear tone of a bell Came floating softly o’er the tranquil bay.
And then a hymn of praise rose up to heaven From bells whose tongues had notes beyond compare, Sordino’s chimes--when on his ears they fell, He knew such happiness which none can tell, And angel hands to Paradise did bear The soul who for true harmony had striven.