And the magical singer, grim and wild
Swept his harp again, and smiled,
And the harp-strings lifted our cries that day
Till the thundering charge reached the City on High—
God’s charge, that he thought
Had passed for aye,
When our last fond hope went down to die.
How, at the climax of the song Lucifer almost restored the first day of creation, when the Universe was happy and sinless.
Oh throbbing, sweet, enthralling spell!
Madly, madly, oh my heart—