An ever gay and joyous festival of heaven's children and the
dwellers upon earth, life rustled on as a spring, through centuries.
All races venerated, like children, the tender, thousand-fold flame,
as the highest of the world; one thought only was there, one hideous
vision of a dream:-


"That fearful to the joyous tables came,
And the gay soul in wild distraction shrouded.
Here could the gods themselves no counsel frame,
That might console the breast with sorrow clouded.
This monster's path mysterious, still the same,
Unstilled his rage, though prayers on gifts were crowded.
His name was Death, who with distress of soul,
Anguish and tears, on the hour of pleasure stole.

For ever now from everything departed
That here can swell the heart with sweet delight,
Torn now from the beloved one, who, sad-hearted,
On earth could but desire and grief excite,
A feeble dream seemed to the dead imparted,
Powerless striving made man's only right;
And broken was enjoyment's heaving billow,
Upon the rock of endless care, its pillow.

With daring mind, as heavenly fancy glows,
Man masks the fearful shape with fair resembling:
His torch put out, a mild youth doth repose;
Soft is the end as the lyre's mournful trembling.
Remembrance fades i' the gloom a shadow throws: