A melancholy music rolls
Along the faintly-chiming breeze—
Sad as the wail of tortured souls.
There ghastly forms were hurrying past
Like weird clouds through the ether driven,
In fear, before the HUNTER-BLAST,
Whose vengeance purifies the heaven.
And some were pale, as if with woe,
And ever cast their eyes below;
And some were quivering with a fear