Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r The moping owl does to the moon complain.

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the env…

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinkling…

Come sleep, O sleep, the certain knot of peace, The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, The indifferent judge…

Sleeping at last, the trouble and tumult over, Sleeping at last, the struggle and horror past, Cold and white, out of sight of friend and of lover, Sleeping at…

We term sleep a death, and yet it is waking that kills us, and destroys those spirits that are the house of life.