Where slaves the choral song
Accompanied with psaltery and lyre,
In red and saffron, like to men of fire,
Whilst hoarsely boomed the gong:
Or silver cymbals clashed, or, waxing shrill,
Danced up the scale a flute’s melodious thrill.
Now at the monarch’s signal, pages twain,
With sunny hair as ripened autumn grain,
And robed in lustrous silver tissue, shot
With changing hues of blue forget-me-not,