Text: Professor Shortfellow, “The Voices of the Night — A Poe-um,” Portland Transcript (Portland, ME), vol. 12, no. 50, March 31, 1849, p. 400, col. 1

Tired of reading, tired of writing, tired of copying and inditing,

And the bed looked so inviting, as if courting me to sleep,

That I folded up my paper, and extinguishing my taper,

Without cutting e’en a caper, softly to my rest did creep.

 

Soon I fell into a slumber, and dreamings without number,

With no nightmares to encumber the blessings of my rest;

When a sound beneath my “winders,” burst my visions into cinders —

Knocked my sleep all into flinders, so that I got up and dressed.

 

Such another horrid squalling, and infernal caterwauling,

Never could be so appalling, as to me it seemed: that night.

The Thomas cats of all creation, were let out upon probation ;

And were “scratching like the nation,” in an everlasting fight.

 

Hastily throwing up the sashes, I made divers frantic dashes,

Of shovelfuls of fire and ashes, on the maddened brutes below;

Quick the fiends began to scatter, and to cease their tarnal clatter,

Having settled thus the matter, I again to bed did go.

 

But if I should live forever, it would be all a vain endeavor,

And I’m certain I could never more forget the horrid fright,

Which came o'er me through the sashes, when I threw the fire and ashes,

In some half a dozen dashes on the “VOICES OF THE NIGHT.”