Amid the market's daily stir and stress,
And the night's empty starlit silentness,
Might solace souls of this and kindred climes.
Then I awoke; and, lo, before me stood
The visioned ones, but pale and full of fear;
From Bruges they came, and Antwerp, and Ostend,
No carillons in their train. Vicissitude
Had left these tinkling to the invaders' ear,
And ravaged street, and smoldering gable-end.