Some hours elapsed in this unenvied mood,
Till Martha’s warbler[226] (in its hall of wood),
Rang out its watchful note, as it was wont
Whenever any one approach’d the front,—
And never fail’d save when the darksome night
Would press its weight upon its tender sight,—
So Jane depended, and away she flew
And found the pretty angel telling true:
Wide swung the gate, and ere another breath
(Profound and solemn as the hour of death),