One moment holds them still in breathless dread.
The wild fierce lustre grows: then bursts a cry—
Fire! through the hall and round it gathering—fly!
And forth they rush, as chased by sword and spear,
To the green coverts of the garden bowers—
A gorgeous masque of pageantry and fear,
Startling the birds and trampling down the flowers:
While from the dome behind, red sparkles driven
Pierce the dark stillness of the midnight heaven.
And where is she—Pauline? The hurrying throng