To mingle fear with all triumphal show!

Who spoke of evil when young feet were flying

In fairy rings around the echoing hall?

Soft airs through braided locks in perfume sighing,

Glad pulses beating unto music’s call?

Silence!—the minstrels pause—and hark! a sound,

A strange quick rustling which their notes had drown’d!

And lo! a light upon the dancers breaking—

Not such their clear and silvery lamps had shed!

From the gay dream of revelry awaking,