The witchcraft of harmonic sound can quiet
The turmoil into rest.
Who through the chieftain’s castle-hall is stealing
With the light foot-fall of some beast of prey,
While vengeance hushes every softer feeling,
Nerving his arm to slay?
Where is his home? To flame its roof was given,
And heavy clouds above the ruin lower—
While the dread foe, by whom his soul was riven,
Unwarned, is in his power.