XCV

And, "Ring, ring, thou passing-bell," still she cried, "i' the old
chapelle!"
Toll slowly.
Then, back-toppling, crashing back--a dead weight flung out to wrack,
Horse and riders overfell.

* * * * *

Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west--
Toll slowly.
And I read this ancient Rhyme, in the churchyard, while the chime
Slowly tolled for one at rest.