Dance or die; it is fury,--the Corybantes, the Maenads, the--Ho, ho! more wine! the Sabbat of the Witches at Benevento is a joke to this! From cloud to cloud wanders the moon,--now shining, now lost.

Dimness while the maiden blushes; light when the maiden smiles.
"Fillide, thou art an enchantress!" "Buona notte, Excellency; you will see me again!" "Ah, young man," said an old, decrepit, hollow-eyed octogenarian, leaning on his staff, "make the best of your youth.

I, too, once had a Fillide! I was handsomer than you then! Alas! if we could be always young!" "Always young!" Glyndon started, as he turned his gaze from the fresh, fair, rosy face of the girl, and saw the eyes dropping rheum, the yellow wrinkled skin, the tottering frame of the old man.
"Ha, ha!" said the decrepit creature, hobbling near to him, and with a malicious laugh.

"Yet I, too, was young once! Give me a baioccho for a glass of aqua vitae!" Tara, rara, ra-rara, tara, rara-ra! There dances Youth! Wrap thy rags round thee, and totter off, Old Age!.