Oft did he wish to see the daylight spring,
And often toward the window lean'd to hear,
Fore-runner of the scarlet-mantled morn,
The early note of wakeful Chanticleer.120
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Thus he—But at my hand a portly youth
Of comely countenance, began to tell,
"That this was Death upon his dying bed,
"Sullen, morose, and peevish to be well;
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"Fixt is his doom—the miscreant reigns no more125
"The tyrant of the dying or the dead;
"This night concludes his all-consuming reign,
"Pour out, ye heav'ns, your vengeance on his head.
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"But since, my friend (said he), chance leads you here,
"With me this night upon the sick attend,130
"You on this bed of death must watch, and I
"Will not be distant from the fretful fiend.
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"Before he made this lofty pile his home,
"In undisturb'd repose I sweetly slept,
"But when he came to this sequester'd dome,135
"'Twas then my troubles came, and then I wept:
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