The hour is come, and the fairies are seen
In their plunder arrayed on the moonlit green.
The music is breathed--'tis a soft strain of pleasure,
And the light giddy throng whirl into the measure.
[Illustration: The Fairy Dance]
'Twas a joyous dance, and the dresses were bright,
Such as never were known till that famous night;
For the gems and the flowers that shone in the scene,
O'ermatched the regalia of princess and queen.
No gaudy slave to a fair one's brow
Was the rose, or the ruby, or emerald now,
But lighted with souls by the playful elves,
The brilliants and blossoms seemed dancing themselves.