And poured portentous glooms along his mind,
That seemed reflected by each friendly face;
The matron sighed, and childhood disinclined
To mirth or sport, sought slumber’s soft embrace,
And soon the gathered night did all dispose,
To shun their boding thoughts in dull repose.
Morn comes again;—the inmates of the cot
Rise from scant slumber, and their guest they greet;
“Williams,” he said, “it is my thankless lot,