Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/161

 That bell is veil'd from human eyes,

For ever there;

And never shall its voice again

Summon to prayer.

—only once—in centuries gone,

That awful bell

Pour'd on an ancient woman's ear

Its marvellous knell.

She went to wash her flaxen threads

In that old well—

Her threads had bound the bell around,

She shriek'd—and fell.

shriek'd and fell—and long she lay

In speechless dread—

She dropp'd the threads, and dropp'd the bell,

And frighted fled.

And then the bell, with fearful sound,

Sunk in the well;

And hill and forest echo'd round

Its fateful knell:

"John, John! is for the greyhound gone."