The maiden heeds her lover’s mellow plea,—
’Tis but the gamut rill’d ere surge the chords.
The dame is moved by tones that cheer her home,—
And they perchance prelude the theme of heaven.
For even blows of toil and battle-guns
May be the drum-rolls of the martial strains
That rise to greet the glory yet to come.
Ay, wait we long enough, we all may hear
In all things music; far above, at last,
May hear the treble thrilling down from heaven,