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The Revelers.
  
  
  


256

The Revelers.

There were sounds of mirth and revelry,
In an old ancestral hall,
And many a merry laugh rang out,
And many a merry call;
And the glass was freely pass'd around,
And the red wine freely quaff'd;
And many a heart beat high with glee,
And the joy of the thrilling draught—
In that broad and huge ancestral hall,
Of the times that were, of old.
A voice arose, as the lights grew dim,
And a glass was flourished high:
“I drink to Life!” said a Reveler bold,
“And I do not fear to die.
I have no fear—I have no fear—
Talk not of the vagrant, Death;
For he's but a grim old gentleman,
And wars but with his breath.”
A boast well worthy a revel-rout
Of the times that were, of old.

257

“We drink,” said all, “We drink to Life
And we do not fear to die!”
Just then a rushing sound was heard,
As of quick wings sweeping by;
And soon the old latch was lifted up,
And the door flew open wide,
And a stranger strode within the hall,
With an air of martial pride:
In visor and cloak, like a secret knight
Of the times that were, of old.
He spoke: “I join in your revelry,
Bold sons of the Bacchan rite,
And I drink the toast ye have filled to drink,
The pledge of yon dauntless knight:
Fill high—fill higher—we drink to Life,
And we scorn the vagrant, Death,
For he's but a grim old gentleman,
And wars but with his breath.”
A pledge well worthy a revel-rout
Of the times that were, of old.
“He's a noble soul, that champion knight,
And he wears a martial brow:
Oh, he'll pass the gates of Paradise,
To the regions of bliss below!”

258

The Reveler stood in deep amaze—
Now flashed his fiery eye;
He muttered a curse—then shouted loud,
“Intruder, thou shalt die!”
And his sword leap'd out, like a baron's brave,
Of the times that were, of old.
He struck—and the stranger's guise fell off,
When a phantom before him stood,
A grinning, and ghastly, and horrible thing,
That curdled his boiling blood.
He stirred not again, till the stranger blew
A blast of his withering breath;
Then the Reveler fell at the Phantom's feet,
And his conqueror was—Death!
In that broad and high ancestral hall,
Of the times that were, of old.