When all have drunk their loving draught, the god
Lifts high the goblet, and vouchsafes a nod,
And bids the mistress of the fairy throng
Arrange the company to join in song;
She, in obedience to the god’s command,
Waved her white beam, and thus commenc’d the band:—
The high sopranos rock the fragrant breeze,
And lift their voices up by slow degrees
Until they reach the pinnacle of sound;
The first great stanza done, then, most profound,