Passed my Evylyn, my treasure,
To the brighter world above.
Surely, surely, I thought, these breathers of harmony cannot be ugly spiders. They are too human—or shall I say too divine?—for that. I had been so absorbed in the two songs that, strange perhaps to say, though I think not, I had scarcely noticed the spiders themselves nor their illuminated web-woven words. I felt now that the songs were nearly ended; and through tear-dimmed eyes, I looked once more at the page on my desk. How strangely brighter the light seemed to be, yet so softer!
Could it be possible! Wasn’t this, after all, some dream?—I dashed the tears from my eyes with my left hand.—No, I was wide awake. No doubt about that. There, too, that light from the words was even brighter than when it was seen through my tears.
Surely, surely, these were not spiders; but spirits, rather, in this disguise. As this thought flew through my brain, I removed the fifth finished page of manuscript, when lo! I almost screamed for mercy that no more revelations be made to me. For the spider glided to the top of the new page, and as he did so, I saw and marveled how much smaller he had grown, as if he had spun his whole body away in his glowing web. But still stranger transformation: All about him, like a spirit embodying the body, was a dim halo of light, such as a star often forms of the mists, that doubtless had been forming from the first although I had not noticed it, having been too absorbed in the songs themselves.
As I looked steadily, transfixed by this new revelation, I saw that haloing light, as true as I live, shape itself in a half human form; and like a light-enhaloed star moving across the scroll of the Almighty in spheric music set to angel words, this transformed being of light trembled across the page before me and trailed these gold-enlighted words through the solemn rhythm of the olden melody.—
By the babbling little brook,
In a quiet, shaded nook,
Sleeps my loved and lost one now.
Over pallid lip and brow