As fell the fleecy covering from it clean,
Where down his shoulder hung its tresses sheen.
XXII.
And when he spake his voice was low and clear,
But yet so deeply thrilling in its tone,
The listening soul seemed rapt into a sphere
Where angels speak in music of their own.
“Williams,” it said, “I come on message here,
Of mighty moment to this age unknown,
Thou must not dally, or the tempest fear,