LXXXVII.
She clung wild and she clung mute with her shuddering lips half-shut.
Toll slowly.
Her head fallen as half in swound, hair and knee swept on the ground,
She clung wild to stirrup and foot.
LXXXVIII.
Back he reined his steed back-thrown on the slippery coping-stone:
Toll slowly.
Back the iron hoofs did grind on the battlement behind
Whence a hundred feet went down:
LXXXIX.
And his heel did press and goad on the quivering flank bestrode—
Toll slowly.
"Friends and brothers, save my wife! Pardon, sweet, in change for life,—
But I ride alone to God."
XC.
Straight as if the Holy name had upbreathed her like a flame—
Toll slowly.
She upsprang, she rose upright, in his selle she sate in sight,
By her love she overcame.
XCI.
And her head was on his breast where she smiled as one at rest—
Toll slowly.
"Ring," she cried, "O vesper-bell in the beechwood's old chapelle—
But the passing-bell rings best!"