CARILLON. IN the ancient town of Bruges, In the quaint old Flemish city, Then, with deep sonorous clangor Silence on the town descended. But amid my broken slumbers Mingled with the fortune-telling Of the silent land of trances 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, |