Thou oil'st the flame, but I endure the smart.
How oft have I, when others' eyes have slept,
Like sentinels to armies, watchings kept!
And when the thought o' th' saints' thrice blissful home
Which (ah! too seldom) 'mongst my thoughts did come,
Then, spite of goodness, blessed E was lost
And you the haven of me tempest-tost.
Have I made envious art admire thy worth,
Touched the Ela of praise t' emblazon 't forth?
1860Bid sleep goodnight, quiet and rest adieu,