The time-worn volume drops; oh, dire presage
Of instant woe! for now the mighty sound,
Pregnant with dismal tidings, once again
Strikes my astonished ears: transfix’d with awe,
And senseless for a time, I stand; but soon
By friendly jog or neighbouring whisper rous’d,
Obey the dire injunction; straight I loose
Depending brogues, and mount the lofty throne
Indignant, or the black oblique ascend
Of sorrowful compeer; nor long delays