If I go to sleep and the fires die down, who knows but wild beasts…

Oh no! not at all; perfectly well—never was better in my life,” he said, becoming all at once preternaturally grave.

I know something about the monkey tribes, but I cannot say that at this moment I remember any particular habit of which we might avail ourselves.

To sleep at your post! shame on you! Had you been a sentinel in time of war that nod would have cost you your life, supposing you to have been caught in the act.

But see! the pains begin to fly; Tho’ Venus bled she could not die: See the new phœnix point her eyes, And lovelier from her ashes rise.

Brighter from her disease she shines, As fire the precious gold refines. Thus when the silent grave becomes Pregnant with life as fruitful wombs; When the wide seas and spacious earth Resign us to our second birth;

'Tis the night—the night Of the grave's delight, And the warlocks are at their play! Ye think that without, The wild winds shout, But no, it is they—it is they!