ought to whelm the burdened air,
And make the silence all its own.

In broad, sonorous, silver swells
The air was billowed like the sea;
And listening ears were listening shells
That caught the Sabbath minstrelsy,
And sang it with the singing bells.

The billows heaved, the billows broke,
The first wild burst went down amain;
The music fell to slower stroke,
And in a rhythmic, bold refrain
The great bells to each other spoke.

Oh bravely bronze gave forth his word,
And sharply silver made reply,
And every tower and turret stirred
With sounding breath and converse high,
Or paused with waiting ear, and heard.

And long they talked, as friend to friend;
Then faltered to their closing toll,
Whose long, monotonous repetend,
From every music-burdened bowl
Poured the last drop, and brought the end!

VIII.

The chapel's chime fell slow and soft,
And throngs slow-marching to its knoll
From village home and distant croft,
With careful feet and reverent soul
Pressed toward the open door, but oft

Turned curious and expectant eyes
Upon the Manse that stood apart.
There in her quiet, bridal guise
Fair Mildred sat with shrinking heart;
While Philip, bold and over wise,

And knowing naught of woman's ways,
Smiled at her fears, and could not guess
How one so armored in his praise,
And strong in native loveliness,
Could dread to meet his people's gaze.

He could not know her fine alarm
When at his manly side she stood,
And, leaning faintly on his arm--
A dainty slip of womanhood--
Walked forth where every girlish charm

Was scanned with prying gaze and glance,
Among the slowly moving crowd
That, greedy of the precious chance,
Read furtively, but half aloud,
The pages of their new romance.

"A child!" And Mildred caught the word.
"A plaything!" And, another voice:
"Fine feathers, and a Southern bird!"
And still one more; "A parson's choice!"
And trembling Mildred overheard.

These from the careless or the dull--
Gossips at best; at wisest, dolts;
And though her quickened ear might cull
From out their whispered thunderbolts
A "lovely!" and a "beautiful!"

And though sweet mother-faces smiled,
And bows were given with friendly grace,
And many a pleasant little child
Sought sympathy within her face,
Her aching heart was not beguiled.

She did not see--she only felt--
A