The Convent bells are ringing,

But mournfully and slow;

In the grey square turret swinging,

With a deep sound, to and fro.

Heavily to the heart they go! 390

Hark! the hymn is singing—

The song for the dead below,

Or the living who shortly shall be so!

For a departed being's soul[rc]

The death-hymn peals and the hollow bells knoll:[426]

He is near his mortal goal;

Kneeling at the Friar's knee,

Sad to hear, and piteous to see—

Kneeling on the bare cold ground.

With the block before and the guards around; 400

And the headsman with his bare arm ready,

That the blow may be both swift and steady,

Feels if the axe be sharp and true

Since he set its edge anew:[427]

While the crowd in a speechless circle gather

To see the Son fall by the doom of the Father!