Sweet Evening Bells

Soft evening bells! - sweet evening bells!
O'er vale and plain your music swells,
                        And far away
                        The echoes play
O'er shaggy mount and forest grey;
                And every rock its secret tells
        To your soft chime, sweet evening bells!

Soft evening bells! - sweet evening bells!
Now twilight drapes the woodland dells,
                        And shadows lie
                        On the closed eye
Of flowers that dream beneath the sky;
                Yet fainter, sweeter, tenderer swells
        Your dying chime, sweet evening bells!

O evening bells! - sweet evening bells!
With every note that sinks and swells,
                        Sadly and slow
                        The warm tears flow
In pensive pleasure more than woe,
        As Mem'ry wakes her witching spells,
'Neath your soft chime, sweet evening bells!

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Pamela S. Vining, also known by her pseudonym J. C. Yule, was an English poet whose work was recognized in the 19th century. Despite her significant contribution to English poetry, detailed information about her life, including her birth and death dates, remains elusive. She remains a noteworthy figure in the canon of English literature for her emotive and thought-provoking poetry.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

At The Grave Of A Young Mother

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

Not Yet

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

The Eye That Never Sleeps

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

The Cry Of The Karens

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Memory-Bells.

Up from the spirit-depths ringing,
        Softly your melody swells,
Sweet as a seraphim's singing,
        Tender-toned memory-bells!
                The laughter of childhood,
                The song of the wildwood,
The tinkle of streams through the echoing dell,
                The voice of a mother,
                The shout of a brother.
Up from life's morning melodiously swell.

Up from the spirit-depths ringing
        Richly your melody swells,
Sweet reminiscences bringing,
        Joyous-toned memory-bells! -
                Youth's beautiful bowers,
                Her dew-spangled flowers,
The pictures which Hope of futurity drew, -
                Love's rapturous vision
                Of regions Elysian,
In glowing perspect...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Good Night

Good night, good night! - the day
Slowly has borne away,
                Music and light;
Once more the starry train
Sweeps over vale and plain,
Soft falls the dews again -
                Good night-good night!

Day's weary toils are done,
Set is the glorious sun,
                Faded the light; -
Now, to the weary breast
Ever a welcome guest, -
Comes the sweet hour of rest -
                Good night - good night!

Evening's cool shadows lie
Calmly o'er earth and sky;
                And, from the height
Of the far, wooded hill,
Sends the lone whip-poor-will,
Softer and sweeter still,
                Plaintive good night.

Gently let slumber lie
On every weary eye
                Tired of the light!
E'...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Till To-Morrow.

Good night! good night! - the golden day
    Has veiled its sunset beam,
And twilight's star its beauteous ray
    Has mirrored in the stream; -
Low voices come from vale and height,
    And murmur soft, good night! good night!

Good night! - the bee with folded wings
    Sleeps sweet in honeyed flowers,
And far away the night-bird sings
    In dreamy forest bowers,
And slowly fades the western light
    In deepening shade, - good night! good night!

Good night! good night! - in whispers low
    The ling'ring zephyr sighs,
And softly, in its dreamy flow,
    The murm'ring brook replies;
And, where yon casement still is bright,
    A softer voice has breathed good-night!

Good night! - as steals the cooling dew
    Where the young ...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Those Evening Bells. (Air.--The Bells Of St. Petersburgh.)

Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth and home and that sweet time
When last I heard their soothing chime.

Those joyous hours are past away:
And many a heart, that then was gay.
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells.

And so 'twill be when I am gone:
That tuneful peal will still ring on,
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells!

Thomas Moore

The Old Church Choir

    I am slowly treading the mazy track
That leadeth, through sunshine and shadows, back -
Through freshest meads where the dews yet cling
As erst they did to each lowly thing,
Where flowers bloom and where streamlets flow
With the tender music of long ago -
To the far-off past that, through mists of tears,
In its spring time loveliness still appears,
And wooes me back to the gleaming shore
Of sunny years that return no more.

    And to night, all weary, and sad, and lone,
I return in thought to those bright years flown,
Whose lingering sweetness, e'en yet, I feel
Like the breath of flower-scents over me steal
I am treading o'er mounds where the dead repose, -
I am stirring the dust of life's perished rose, -
I am rustling the withered leaves that lie

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

The Bell.

Through the calm and silent air
    Floats the tolling funeral bell,
    Swooning over hill and dell,
Heavy laden with despair;
    Mute between each muffled stroke,
    Sad as though a dead voice spoke,
    Out of the dim Past time spoke,
Stands my heart all mute with care.

The Bell is tolling on, and deep,
    Deep and drear into my heart
    All its bitter accents dart.
Peace! sad chime, I will not weep--
    What is there within thy tone,
    That should wring my heart alone,
    Rive it with this endless moan?
Peace! and let past sorrows sleep!

Fling your music on the breeze,
    Mock the sighing of the willows,
    Mock the lapping of the billows,
Mock not human sympathies;
    Slow chime, sad chime, mock me not,
    ...

Walter R. Cassels