Yet thought the tedious hours would seem much shorter,
If, now and then, a tale he could unfold
To ears of flesh and blood, not stone and mortar.
At length, his old Castellum grew so dull,
That legions of Blue Devils seize’d the Knight;
Megrim invested his belaurell’d skull;
Spleen laid embargoes on his appetite;
Till, thro’ the day-time, he was haunted, wholly,
By all the imps of “loathed Melancholy!”—
Heaven keep her, and her imps, for ever, from us!—