The profuseness of the illuminations outdid the brightness
of the meridian sun. The table was spread in a manner to engage the eye
and allure the appetite. Every vessel that was placed upon it was of
massive silver. And in different corners of the apartment heaps of the
most fragrant incense were burning in urns of gold. The viands were of a
nature the most stimulating and delicious; and the wines were bright and
sparkling and gay. As Imogen approached, a stream of music burst upon
her ear of a kind which hitherto she had never witnessed. It was not the
sonorous and swelling notes of praise; it was not the enthusiastic
rapture of the younger bards; it was not the elevated and celestial
sounds that she had been used to hear from the lyre of Llewelyn. But if
it was not so swelling and sublime, it was soft, and melodious, and
insinuating, and overpowering beyond all conception. You could not
listen to it without feeling all the strings of your frame relaxed, and
the nobler powers of your soul lulled into a pleasing slumber. It was
madness all. The ear that heard it could not cease to attend. The mind
that listened to it was no longer master of itself.
Imogen entered the hall, and was received by a train of nymphs, some of
them more beautiful than any she had yet seen, and all attired with
every refinement of elegance and grace.
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