Ye Gods of Quiet, and of Sleep profound!
Whose soft Dominion o'er this Castle sways,
And all the widely-silent Places round,
Forgive me, if my trembling Pen displays
What never yet was sung in mortal Lays.
But how shall I attempt such arduous String?
I who have spent my Nights and nightly Days,
In this Soul-deadening Place, loose-loitering?
Ah! how shall I for this uprear my moulted Wing?