But as he left his mill, the passing-bell,
With its first startling boom, tolled on his ear.
It is a sound that enters at the brain,
A saddening augury of woe, and strikes
The inmost chord of sympathising hearts
That fondly breathe an echoing sigh of pain.
Sudden it falls, chilly as winter's frost,
Turning to icicles the heart's warm blood.
Spoke Philip to the comrade at his side,
"Know you for whom that passing-bell is struck?