Ah me, who is ringing those bells?
Right merry for funeral knells!
If the winds of hell could ring them as well,
What woe would the demons lack?
My light blew out in the gust of the rout:
My boy will never come back.
And drums!—How lightly they roll!
Coarse drums, can they call the soul?
Folks, out of breath, do you shout at death?
Can you rend the tomb?—Alack,