Mute between each muffled stroke,
Sad as though a dead voice spoke,
Out of the dim Past time spoke,
Stands my heart all mute with care.

The Bell is tolling on, and deep,
Deep and drear into my heart
All its bitter accents dart.
Peace! sad chime, I will not weep--
What is there within thy tone,
That should wring my heart alone,
Rive it with this endless moan?
Peace! and let past sorrows sleep!

Fling your music on the breeze,
Mock the sighing of the willows,
Mock the lapping of the billows,
Mock not human sympathies;
Slow chime, sad chime, mock me not,
With that loved voice ne'er forgot,
Flooding me with tears blood-hot;
Mock not soul-deep memories!

Come not from the unseen Past,
Flying up the silent gale,
With that deep and muffled wail,
Slaying me with lying tale,
Base chime, false chime from the Past!
Not in sighs of mortal pain,
Pain and anguish rise again,