dwells,
    Dire was the feud our sculptured Alfred saw,[20]
    And thy grim-bearded bust, Erigena,
    When scouts came flocking from the empty hall,
    And porters trembled at the Doctor’s call;
    Ah! call’d in vain, with laugh supprest they stood
    And bit their nails, a dirty-finger’d brood. 
    E’en Looker gloried in his master’s plight,[21]
    And John beheld, and chuckled at the sight.[22]
    Genius of discord! thou whose murky flight
    With iron pennons more obscured the night—­
    Thou, too, of British birth, who dost reside
    In Syms’s or in Goodwin’s blushing tide,[23]
    Say, spirit, say, for thy enlivening bowl
    With fell ambition fired thy favourite’s soul,
    From what dread cause began the bloodless fray
    Pregnant with shame, with laughter, and dismay? 
    Calm was the night, and all was sunk to rest,
    Save Shawstone’s party, and the Doctor’s breast: 
    He saw with pain his ancient glory fled,
    And thick oblivion gathering round his head. 
    Alas! no more his pupils crowding come,
    To wait indignant in their tyrant’s room,[24]
    No more in hall the fluttering theme he tears,
    Or lolling, picks his teeth at morning prayers;
    Unmark’d, unfear’d, on dogs he vents his hate,
    And spurns the terrier from his guarded gate. 
    But now to listless indolence a prey,
    Stretch’d on his couch, he sad and darkling lay;
    As not unlike in venom and in size,
    Close in his hole the hungry spider lies. 
    “And oh!” he cries, “am I so powerless grown,
    That I am fear’d by cooks and scouts alone? 
    Oh! for some nobler strife, some senior foe,
    To swell by his defeat the name of Toe!”
    He spoke—­the powers of mischief heard his cries,
    And steep’d in sullen sleep his rheumy eyes. 
    He slept—­but rested not, his guardian sprite
    Rose to his view in visions of the night,
    And thus, with many a tear and many a sigh,
    He heard, or seem’d to hear, the mimic demon cry:—­[25]
    “Is this a time for distant strife to pray,
    When all my power is melting fast away,
    Like mists dissolving at the beams of day,
    When masters dare their ancient rights resume,
    And bold intruders fill the common room,
    Whilst thou, poor wretch, forsaken, shunn’d by all,
    Must pick thy commons in the empty hall? 
    Nay more! regardless of thy hours and thee,
    They scorn the ancient, frugal hour of three.[26]
    Good Heavens! at four their costly treat is spread,
    And juniors lord it at the table’s head;
    See fellows’ benches sleeveless striplings bear,[27]
    Whilst Smith and Sutton from the canvass stare.[28]
    Hear’st thou through all this consecrated ground,
    The rattling thong’s unwonted clangour sound? 
    Awake! arise! though many