Poem by Anonymous

The Bells of Fletching

THE FLETCHING bells, with silver chime,
  Come softened o’er the distant shore;
Though I have heard them many a time,
  They never sang so sweet before.

A silence rests upon the hill,
  A listening awe pervades the air;
The very flowers are shut and still,
  And bowed as if in prayer.

1. Inscription on a Gravestone in the Churchyard of Melrose Abbey
2. The Old Scottish Gentleman
3. Barthram’s Dirge
4. Kate Kearney
5. Loch Ina

Print

1795 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version