And that conjuror’s mutterings, made such a din,
That startled, I woke—leap’d up in my bed—
Found the spirit, the imps, and the conjurer fled,
And blessed my stars, right pleased to see,
That I wasn’t, as yet, in Chancery.
Thomas Moore.
(This poem originally appeared in The Times, 1826.)
Fragment of a Vision.
A Dandy on a velocipede