Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/167

 And there of purest silver hung

A sacred bell,

Which daily—never ceasing—rang

John's funeral knell.

from the very earliest day,

It struck that knell,

The hearer's teeth all gnash'd with fear;

So terrible—

So terrible its sound—so loud;

No silver sound—

But the church trembled et the noise,

And all around—

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

's lord was told the story,

And bitter were the tears he shed;

He doff'd his robes of knightly glory,

Tore all his honors from his head: