The bridal of Vaumond :: :: University of Virginia Library

'Twas the dead of night—from his couch he rose,
Sworn foe to sorrow's woo'd repose;—
Slumber'd his menials still and deep,
Upon their eyes sat deathlike sleep.
Many a black and gloomy cloud
Hung upon night's sable shroud;
On the chilly air came not a sound,
Fell not a leaf the castle round;

The measur'd pace of the knight alone
Sent back upon his ear its tone,
His dog, whose eyes in slumber watch,
Whose ears in sleep each foot-fall catch,
Stirs not, his master's feet to lick,
All slept—wak'd none but Lodowick.