Then I lay me down in wrath;
If I stir not in sweet dreaming,
Then I wither in my path;
If I hear sweet voices singing,
'Tis a demon's lullaby,
And in "hideous storm and terror"
Wake but to die!'
And even while he spake, the sun
From the sweet hills pierced the gloom,
Kindling th' affrighted fiends upon.