Knell

I’ll make thee sick at heart, before I leave thee, And groan, and die indeed, and be worth nothing, Not worth a blessing nor a bell to knell for thee […]

“[…] God!—the words of the warlock are knelling in my ears!”

The chill rain is falling, the nipt worm is crawling, The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling For the year

Yet all that poets sing, and grief hath known, Of hopes laid waste, knells in that word—ALONE!

Let thy friends be as the dead in doom, And build to them a final tomb; Let the starred shade that nightly falls Still celebrate their funerals, And the bell of beetle and of bee Knell their melodious memory.

The church bells knelled the peaceful ending of the day, while the purple shades of night descended sadly and majestically on the low chain of neighbouring hills.

His right hand, clenched into an iron mallet, battered desperately at the fearful face bent toward his; the beast-like teeth shattered under his blows and blood splattered, but still the red eyes gloated and the taloned fingers sank deeper and deeper until a ringing in Turlogh’s ears knelled his soul’s departure.

[…]he is able to pierce a corselet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery.