Fired the rich palace and the stately fane,
Drank in their victim’s shriek, as music’s breath,
And lived o’er scenes, the festivals of death!
And there was mirth, too!—strange and savage mirth,
More fearful far than all the woes of earth!
The laughter of cold hearts, and scoffs that spring
From minds for which there is no sacred thing;
And transient bursts of fierce, exulting glee—
The lightning’s flash upon its blasted tree!
But still, howe’er the soul’s disguise were worn,