For strange, unearthly lustres fill
The frosty air. To Ragnal blown,
Across Lough Erne, there comes the breath
Of sweetest blossoms ever grown;
Yet, right or left, above, below,
No living thing or shape is shown.
All wordless, o’er the sparkling Lough,
The music steals again—but hark!
“Gloria in excelsis!” sings