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Come forward O my soul, and let the rest retire, Listen, lose not, it is toward thee they tend, Parting the midnight, entering my slumber-chamber, For thee they sing and dance O soul.

A festival song, The duet of the bridegroom and the bride, a marriage-march, With lips of love, and hearts of lovers fill’d to the brim with love, The red-flush’d cheeks and perfumes, the cortege swarming full of friendly faces young and old, To flutes’ clear notes and sounding harps’ cantabile.

Now loud approaching drums, Victoria! see’st thou in powder-smoke the banners torn but flying? the rout of the baffled? Hearest those shouts of a conquering army?

(Ah soul, the sobs of women, the wounded groaning in agony, The hiss and crackle of flames, the blacken’d ruins, the embers of cities, The dirge and desolation of mankind.)