"The Plague is at our doors!" the watchers cried amain:—
At the shrill call England raised up her head:
"Arm! arm against the Plague!" the watchers cried again:
England turned round upon her lazy bed,
Folding her arms in dreamy drowsihead—
"Arm! arm!" the watchers cried—the watchers cried in vain!
England not stirring slept; or if perchance one stirred,
'Twas but to vent a muttered curse on those
Whose warning trumpet-call through folds of slumber heard,
Broke in upon the pleasure of repose,