Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.

You may regard the above document in the light of a deadly and destructive missile, thrown by an unperceived enemy into a peaceful citadel, attracting no particular notice from the innocent unsuspecting inhabitants—amongst whom, nevertheless, it presently explodes, and all is terror, death and ruin.

—here his horse, whose sides were constantly being galled by the spurs of its unconscious rider, began to back a little, then to go on one side, and in Titmouse’s fright, his glass dropped from his eye, and he seized hold of the pummel. Nevertheless, to show the lady how completely he was at his ease all the while, he levelled a great many oaths and curses at the unfortunate eyes and soul of the wayward brute; who, however, not in the least moved by them, but infinitely disliking the spurs of its rider and the twisting round of its mouth by the reins, seemed more and more inclined for mischief, and backed close up to the edge of the ditch.

I.
Where, O where
Hath gentle Peace found rest?
Builds she in bower of lady fair?—
But Love — he hath possession there;
Not long is she the guest.

II.

Sits she crown’d
Beneath a pictured dome?
But there Ambition keeps his ground
And Fear and Envy Stalk around;
This cannot be her home!

III.

Will she hide
In scholar’s pensive cell?
But he already hath his bride:
Him Melancholy sits beside—
With her she may not dwell!

IV.

Now and then,
Peace, wandering lays her head
On regal couch, in captive’s den—
But nowhere finds she rest with men,
Or only with the dead!