67
One balmy eve, with flaming torch
And crystal lamp, each wide saloon,
Verandah, gallery, and porch,
Shone with the gorgeous light of noon.
The gayest of their festivals—
The ductile fingered jugglers came,
And featly poised the golden balls,
In sparkling founts and showers of flame;
There too in strange and fitful dance
To the soft breathings of a flute
The many-coloured serpents glance,
And o'er the marble pavement shoot;
And there with necromantic skill
The shrewd magician played his part;
The raptured croud were gazing still
With wonder on his potent art,
All heedless of the murmuring sound
In distant chambers gathering round—
A sudden simultaneous cry
The preconcerted signal gave,
