“To reach the chapel ere the psalms began.
“There, in the arms of that lethargic chair,
“Which rears its moth-devoured back so high,
“At noon he quaff’d three glasses to the fair,
“And por’d upon the news with curious eye.
“Now by the fire, engag’d in serious talk
“Or mirthful converse, would he loit’ring stand;
“Then in the garden chose a sunny walk,
“Or launch’d the polish’d bowl with steady hand;
“One morn we miss’d him at the hour of pray’r,