Woodcuts and Verses :: :: University of Virginia Library

BE merry, be merry in Clifton Halls!
The moon in heaven is bright:
From the towers of the churches Midnight calls;
And the Gay are met within sparkling walls;
For the LORD OF DEATH gives a Dance to-night.

They're merry, they're merry! in painted bowers
They ply the frolic feet;
The Revellers' heads are bound with flowers,
And they wear a Cap of bewitching powers,
By Folly weaved in the loom of Fate.

Disease, and Languor, and Care, and Pain,
Obey the stirring charm;
The Colchian spell is at work again,
And Age trips down with the festive train,
Supporting Beauty with gallant arm.

But who is She that presides the while,
So like a Spirit fair?
She glides about with a fearful smile:
Her cheek is bright; yet the Serpent Guile
Seems lurking under the roses there.

Some word she whispers to all who trace
The labyrinth of Dance,
Which to Age's check gives a hectic grace,
And by Youth is heard with a flushing face,
And a sweetly wild but perturbed glance.

And the moment she sees the hectic blood
The deepening cheek suffuse,
To the LORD OF DEATH she directs a nod,
And receives a smile from the SKELETON-GOD,
Whose eye as a Lover's her step pursues.

‘Be merry, be merry in Clifton Halls,’
That WITCH CONSUMPTION cries!
But hark, from the turret the Grave-Bell calls,
The Feast is spread by the churchyard walls,
And away to banquet with DEATH she flies.