For he from Indian vales has come,
Following the circle of the sun;
Through Balk, and over Oxus’ stream,
Gliding as soundless as a dream,
Into the cities of the West,
That quail before the giant pest.
The stir of life in silence dies,
Where’er the mighty vampyre flies;
The voice of mirth is hushed and mute;
The viol shrill, the festal lute;