There came a splendid carnival, The season’s last—a costume ball; And called, as if by wizard’s wand, In garbs of many a distant land: To grace that gorgeous revel came, A host of charms—ah! who could name One half the beauty, rich and bright, That shone on that last revel night? There many a youthful matron bore Her store of gems—and sighed for more, Yon fair Sultana to eclipse With henna on her fingers’ tips; There in a snowy veil entangled Drooped pensive Nun; and next, half-strangled By garland, Perdita the fair,— And an Ophelia, with a stare Of wonder, as she queried whether ’Twas right to wear the heron feather, That nodded, with each Scottish breath, On her who stood for Queen Macbeth? In truth it was a pleasant sight To meet, in noon-tide blaze of light, The denizens of furthest lands, From Asia’s shores to Egypt’s sands: There prudes, with shrinking horror, saw The beads and blanket of a Squaw; But ere their whispered blame began } To circle round, a murmur ran, } “How very droll!—a nice young man!” } There fair young Greeks in freedom strayed, With braided locks, and robes that played In many a light and graceful fold, And white brows bound with coins of gold; The Turkish fair unveiled were then To the promiscuous gaze of men, With such a wealth of raven hair, And cheeks so radiant, brows so fair— No wonder Sultans, passing nigh, Eyed the fair groups, and wished to buy!