From town, till morn, the merchant speeds his way,
And London leaves to tumult and to me.
Now stars terrestrial glimmer through each street,
Thro’ all the air a din confus’d is spread,
Save where perchance some list’ning crowd you meet,
By nightly songsters’ strain discordant led;
Save that from yonder watch-box standing near,
The old night-guardian tells his wonted tale;
Or urged by outrage dire to timely fear,