LIII



Into some secret, migrant Realm without,
By the dun Cloak of Darkness wrapped about,
Or by ringed Saturn's Swirl thou may'st be hid
In vain: be sure the Bore will find you out.



LIV



Were't not a shame, were't not a shame I say,
That in this sorry Brotherhood of Clay
No Necromance the Philtre can distil
To keep Mosquitoes, Death and Bores away?



LV



Northly or Southly may I ride or walk
Beneath the glacial Crag or fronded Stalk,
But still the Spectre gibbers in my Ears