Earthly dream shall he dream no more:
His chair is vacant—his way lies yon,
To the formless cells of the dead and gone.
Passing bell, that dost sadly fling
Thy wailing wave on the air of spring.
There is no voice in thy long, wild moan,
To tell where the parted soul is flown,
To what far mansion it travels on—
While thou tollest thus for the dead and gone.
Yet, bell of death, on the living air