[Madhattermya]

Listen! From the battlements of the distant towers The solemn bell has beaten at midnight! Carried away by visions of restless sleep, Broderick Poor awake, and laments alone.

Cease, Memory, cease (without friends and distressed cries) To redress these severe chest overwhelmed with evidence. Oh, my soul never ceases to wander pensive In the bright fields of Fortune, in better days When the hope was young, and the music of the mind He praised all her charms, and Errington was nice.