Applause as thunder broke forth, to his heart’s content.
Like voice of Isrāfīl, whose trump on judgment day,[245]
Will wake the dead to life, his made the saddest gay.
Dear friend to Isrāfīl he was, and mendicant;
His notes made plumes to sprout on hide of elephant.5
Some day will Isrāfīl attention pay to moans.
Their souls he will recall to old and putrid bones.
The prophets, likewise, all, musicians are on hearts.
Disciples hence expire with joy by fits and starts.
Our outward ears the strains hear not which thence proceed;