84
THE IMPROVISATRICE.
I entered:—and, beneath the roof,
Ten thousand wax-lights burnt on high;
And incense on the censers fumed
As for some great solemnity.
The white-robed choristers were singing;
Their cheerful peal the bells were ringing:
Then deep-voiced music floated round,
As the far arches sent forth sound—
The stately organ:—and fair bands
Of young girls strewed, with lavish hands,
Violets o'er the mosaic floor;
And sang while scattering the sweet store.
I turned me to a distant aisle,
Where but a feeble glimmering came
(Itself in darkness) of the smile
Sent from the tapers' perfumed flame;
