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THE BELLS OF BILBAO.*

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

SWEETLY ye murmured, ye bells of Bilbao,

When chanting your vespers o'er mountain and stream,

And whispered "good night" to them, bells of Bilbao,

Midst the purple and gold of the sun's setting gleam.

And glad were your voices, ye bells of Bilbao,

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That echoed the matins of people and priest;

Full clear was your chorus, ye bells of Bilbao,

To hail the glad sun as he rose in the east.

Two spirits possessed ye, ye bells of Bilbao,

An angel the one and the other a fiend;

The last is your master now, bells of Bilbao,

For red was the bosom on which ye were weaned.

Hell's furnace conceived ye, ye bells of Bilbao,

And molten the milk that was fed you of old.

Of copper and brass are ye, bells of Bilbao,

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