Those who on the bloody plain,
Shriek with the voices of the slain:
Those who thro' the darkness glare,
And the sleepless murd'rer scare:
Those who take their surly rest
On the troubl'd dreamers breast:
Those who make their nightly den
In the guilty haunts of men.
Thro' the heavy air I hear
Their hollow trooping onward bear:
The torches shrinking flame is dim and pale;
I know thy coming; mighty master, hail!
(All repeat again.) Mighty. master, hail!
(The stage becomes still darker, and a thicker vapour ascends.)
3d Mystic. Lo! the mystic volumes rise!
Wherein are lapt from mortal eyes
Horrid deeds as yet unthought,
Bloody battles yet unfought:
The sudden fall and deadly wound
Of the tyrant yet uncrown'd;
And his line of many dyes
Who yet within the cradle lies.
Moving forms, whose stilly bed
Long hath been among the dead;
Moving forms, whose living morn
Breaks with the nations yet unborn,
In mystic vision walk the horrid pale:
We own thy presence; mighty master, hail!
(All.) Mighty master, hail!
