Why art not thou among the festive throng,

Baly, O Mighty One! to hear thy fame?

Still as of yore, with pageantry and song

The glowing streets along,

They celebrate thy name;

Baly! great Baly! still

The grateful habitants of Earth acclaim,

Baly! great Baly! still

The ringing walls and echoing towers proclaim.

From yonder mountain the portentous flame

Still blazes to the nations as before;

All things appear to human eyes the same,

As perfect as of yore;

To human eyes, . . but how unlike to thine!

Thine which were wont to see

The Company divine,

That with their presence came to honour thee!

For all the blessed ones of mortal birth

Who have been cloth’d with immortality,

From the eight corners of the Earth,

From the Seven Worlds assembling, all

Wont to attend thy solemn festival.

Then did thine eyes behold

The wide air peopled with that glorious train,

Now may’st thou seek the blessed ones in vain,