John Watson Dalby

TWELVE—but Macaulay had but now been closed;

Sleep could not quickly follow page so fine;

One—and strange figures filled my wakeful eye;

Two—and the lightning finds those eyes unclosed;

Three—and for no brief instant had I dozed;

Four—and slow morn did on the casement shine,

But where my strength for challenge so divine?

Five—still for slumber wholly indisposed

I on my restless pillow turn and twist,

Reaching a hopeful weariness by six;

And then all sense of outer objects missed,

I with the Cavaliers and Roundheads mix

Awhile, to rise an irate rogue, perplexed,

Vexing the house because myself am vexed.