From Tait’s Edinburgh Magazine, December 1837, page 796
THE CANTERBURY BELL.
" 'I see it grow beneath my hand,
I see it day by day,
I measure on its purple wand
How long he is away.
" 'The seed was sleeping in the earth,
The snow was on the ground,
And Christmas gathered in its mirth
The friends now scattered round.
" 'It was the time of thy farewell,
Cold, wintry, dead—and now
The violets are in the dell,
The May upon the bough.
" 'We sowed its seed when winds were chill,
The plant now grown so fair;
We placed it on the window-sill,
To catch the sun and air!
" 'You said you would return again
Before it was in bloom—
Alas! it sheds its light in vain
Around our altered room.
" 'My heart is sick with hope deferred,
Days, weeks pass slowly o’er—
Alas! one voice is still unheard,
One step returns no more!
