Some painted pictures in their pleasant tents,
And many played on all stringed instruments.
But some rode up unto the gorgeous clouds
Around the necks of monstrous eagles clinging.
The people which do there have their abodes
Welcoméd them with flags, and wild bell-ringing;
With musical cannon from th’ embrasures flinging
Puffs of white vapor, bombs, and rattling grape:—
The Goblin-populace of Cloud-land we
Could well behold:—Ah, they a brisk folk be!