With its wondrous weight of gold,
Can it be the rod enchanted
Midas used in days of old?
Hush! perchance it is a princess
In the sunlight nodding there,
Spell-bound by the wicked fairy,—
Sleepy little Golden-Hair!
Nay, it is Belshazzar’s banquet,
Where the drowsy monarch sups
With his swarm of courtiers, drinking