Rushed, thundering, over the frozen land,
And bade him “Stand! or die!”
“Dong—dong!” And the sound of a bell
Went wailing away over meadow and mere—“Eleven!”
Counted aloud by the sentinel clock
On the turret of Time; and the regular beat
Of his echoing feet
Fell—like lead—on the ear—
As he left the dead Hour on its desolate bier.
With his ashen lance in rest,