They are dreaming—Hark!—Whence that mysterious sound?
Like the wild harp of Æolus disturbed by the wings
Of some spirit that playfully hovers around,
And fan into song the invisible strings;
Or the hymn which the spirit of God’s universe
Sings unto the planets and suns, as they roll,
Or the chorus celestial beings rehearse
When they welcome to heaven an innocent soul.
Lo! a ladder of sunbeams shoots down from the skies
To the child, and a host of bright beings appear;
And as they descend their sweet voices arise
More loud and distinct on the mother’s rapt ear.
Oh! ne’er has the tongue of a mortal expressed
The accents that fall on the ears of the soul,
The thoughts to an atom of spirit addressed
By its infinite, mighty, mysterious whole.
The silver-winged choristers press round the pair;
The chorus has ceased; but a voice far more sweet
In its unaided melody, takes up the air,
Which feebly the muse thus essays to repeat.
“This is the dear sister our love longs to win,
Soft!—bear her away to the home of the blest,
Ere a pang of earth’s sorrow, or taint of its sin,
Hath stricken or sullied her innocent breast.”
They raise her; again in rich harmony blend
The sweet voices; a glance half of joy, half of pain
They beam on the mother, then gracefully wend
Their ethereal pathway to heaven again.
The chorus expires:—their images shown
In the dimness of distance like faint shadows seem;
Till the gates now regained are wide open thrown,
And each form stands revealed in the outrushing gleam.
The child is upraised in a halo of light
More radiant far than was e’er seen on this earth;
It smiles an adieu!—then departs from the sight;
The gates close:—it enters its heavenly birth!
All was dark till a bright star appeared in the place,
Shedding down like a beacon of hope its pure ray,
And the mother awaking, rushed forth to embrace—
Not her child—but the husk which its soul cast away.