And the glad bells sound on the clear sweet air,
For the bells all ring for the belle so fair—
Ringing, ringing!
Ah, me! but that tongue will swing again,
Tolling, tolling;
Swing again with a solemn strain,
Tolling, tolling:
It will tell how some one beloved has died,
How the cold dark earth has claimed his bride;
And ’twill seem in its strains as though it sighed—