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102 And impelled me to frequently roll,

And made me resistlessly roll.

Till my ten-strikes created a panic

In the realms of the Boreal pole,

Till my ten-strikes created a panic,

With the monkey a-top of his pole.

I repeat, I was perfectly sober,

But my thoughts they were palsied and sere—

My thoughts were decidedly queer;

For I knew not the month was October,

And I marked not the night of the year;

I forgot that sweet morceau of Auber,

That the band oft performéd down here,

And I mixed the sweet music of Auber

With the Nightingale's music by Shear.

And now as the night was senescent,

And star-dials pointed to morn,

And car-drivers hinted of morn,

At the end of the path a liquescent

And bibulous lustre was born;

'T was made by the bar-keeper present,