I burn to set the imprisond wranglers free, And give them voice and utterance once again. Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate1 wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
And Katerfelto, with his hair on end At his own wonders, wondering for his bread. T is pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world,to see the stir Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd.