The sun, awakening, through the smoky air
Of the dark city casts a sullen glance,
Rousing each caitiff[323] to his task of care,
Of sinful man the sad inheritance;
Summoning revelers from the lagging dance,
Scaring the prowling robber to his den;
Gilding on battled tower the warder’s lance,
And warning student pale to leave his pen,
And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men.
What various scenes, and, oh! what scenes of woe,