Arm! Arm! it is—it is—the Elections' opening roar!
'Tis in our midst—that figure draped and dim,
Whose mocking music makes us all afraid.
"Death as the Foe!" Can it indeed be Him?
Duller, more dirge-like tune was never played
On strings more spirit-chilling. Feet are stayed
Though in mid-waltz, and laughter, though at height,
Hushes, and maidens modishly arrayed
For matrimonial conquest, shrink with fright;
And Fashion palsied sits, and Shopdom takes to flight.