And as the prince, on Prosper’s magic isle,
Stood spellbound, listening with a raptured smile
To Ariel’s witching notes, as through the trees
They stole like angel voices on the breeze,
So when some strange divine the hymn gives out,
Pleased with the strains he casts his eyes about,
All round the chapel gives an earnest stare,
And wonders where the deuce the singers are,
Nor dreams that o’er his own bewildered pate
There hangs suspended such a tuneful weight!”