Shall no glad peal from church-tower grey
Cheer the young maiden’s homeward way?
No! while the Cornish voice can ring,
And Vyvyan cry, “Our Church and King!”
Shall the grey tower in ruins spread?
And must the furrow hold the dead
Without the toll of passing knell,
Without the stolèd priest to tell
Of Christ the first-fruits of the dead,
To wake our brother from his bed?[[36]]