Such were my thoughts till slumber came,
And then by fancy's vivid light
Methought that rag, the very same—
Appear'd again before my sight.
No longer were its folds defiled,
But pure and white it seem'd as snow,
And 'neath a roller whirling wild,
I saw the worthless fragment go.
And bleach'd and clean, by that machine
'Twas triturated fast;