The Bells of Shandon
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With deep affection and recollection I oft times think of those Shandon bells, Whose sound so wild would in the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle their magic spells, On this I ponder when'eer I wander and thus grow fonder sweet Cork of thee, With thy bells of Shandon that sound so grand on, The pleasant waters of the river Lee. I've heard bells chiming, full many a chime in, Tolling sublime in Cathedral shrine, While at a glib rate, brass tongues would vibrate, But all their music spoke naught like thine; For memory dwelling on each proud swelling, Of the belfry knelling its bold notes free, Made the bells of Shandon sound far more grand on, The pleasant waters of the river Lee. I've heard bells tolling Old "Adrian's Mole" in their thunder rolling from the Vatican, And cymbals glorious, swinging uproarious In the gorgeus turrets of Notre Dame, But thy sounds were sweeter than the dome of Peter, Flings o'er the Tiber, peelingly solemnly, O, the bells of Shandon sound far more grand on, The pleasant waters of the river Lee. There's a bell in Moscow, while on tower and kiosk o! In Saint Sophia the Turkman gets, And loud in air calls men to prayer, From the tapering summit of tall minarets. Such empty phantom, I freely grant them, But there is an anthem more dear to me, 'Tis the bells of Shandon that sound so grand on, The pleasant waters of the river Lee.'