XXV

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XXV

Our hero stops and doth alight,

Flies past the porter to the stair,

But, ere he mounts the marble flight,

With hurried hand smooths down his hair.

He enters: in the hall a crowd,

No more the music thunders loud,

Some a mazurka occupies,

Crushing and a confusing noise;

Spurs of the Cavalier Guard clash,

The feet of graceful ladies fly,

And following them ye might espy

Full many a glance like lightning flash,

And by the fiddle’s rushing sound

The voice of jealousy is drowned.