Till all the creatures of this nether world
Are one wide quarry: following dark behind,
The cormorant Oblivion swallows up
The carcasses that Time has made his prey.
But, hark! the village clock strikes nine—the chimes
Merrily follow, tuneful to the sense
Of the pleased clown attentive, while they make
False-measured melody on crazy bells.
O wond’rous Power of modulated sound!
Which, like the air (whose all-obedient shape