Th’ attorney’s clerk goes slowly to his tea;
And mine begins to plod his weary way,
And leave my rooms to solitude and me.
Now fades the glitt’ring river on my sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness feels;
Save when some rake wheels round his rapid flight,
And drowsy watchmen follow at his heels.
Save, that from yonder darkly shaded tow’r,
The moping sage does solemnly complain
Of such, as wandering near his lonely door,