Howleth to heaven this mastiff bitch.
Buried in thought O’Warren lay,
Like a village queen on the birth of May;
He listed the tones of Saint Dunstan’s clock,
Of the mastiff bitch and the crowing cock;
But louder, far louder, he listed a roar,
Loud as the billow that booms on the shore;
Bang, bang, with a pause between,
Rung the weird sound at his door, I ween.
Up from his couch he leaped in affright,