DISTRACTION.

Mercy!—I know it not—for I am miserable. I'll give thee misery—for here she dwells, This is her house—where the sun never dawns: The bird of night sits screaming o'er the roof; Grim spectres sweep along the horrid gloom; And nought in heard, but wailings and lamenting. Hark!—something cracks above;—it shakes—it totters! And see—the nodding ruin falls to crush me!— 'Tis fallen—'Tis here!—I feel it on my brain! A waving flood of bluish fire swells o'er me! And now 'tis out—and I am drown'd in blood.— Ha! what art thou? thou horrid headless trunk!— It is my Hastings—See, he wafts me on! Away I go!—I fly!—I follow thee!