Pursues his course with staggering step across the noble hall;
He climbs the winding turret-stair, he reaches Adolf’s room,
And pale as any ghost or ghoule that ever left the tomb,
He sinks into a chair,
With a vacant stare,
Examines by turns all the furniture there;
He gasps and he groans,
And he bellows and moans,
And he mutters of devils, Old Nick, Davey Jones,
Till his host, who of flying begins to think,