Classic Poem

Hark! the echo of shout and song!
See the bacchanals troop along!
Loud the cymbals are sounding.
Then, as wildly they onward pour,
Swells the drum, with its hollow roar,
Deep from cavern rebounding.

Quick the Graces, with timid flight,
Far retire to the forest-night,
Scared, as the din is pealing.
Gentle Nymphs to the thicket fly,
Wait till the tumult has hurried by,
Racked each tenderer feeling.

Such the tumult and din of life;
So it rushes, in storm and strife
Flies the ideal before it:
And as its discord rolls along,
Still is the gentle voice of song:
Only can peace restore it.