Nearer , clearer grew the Vision. In his own time-honoured hall
Sate that Boy no longer lonely; there were revellers gathered, all
Of his ancient name; red Christmas heaped the board with wassail cheer,
In his hand the upraised wine-cup, at the door the coming Year.

Branched the ancestral trunk before him; on the escutcheoned walls were hung
Shield, and helm, and feudal banner once above the war-cries flung,
When through those grey gates the sally backward bore the rebel throng,
Headlong in the moat the foemen dead and dying rolled along.

For not nameless those time-wasted turrets!—battle's fiery blast
Left its dint upon their foreheads, scathing, blackening as it passed,
When the royal standard fallen loyalty chivalrous bare
From the stricken field of Worcester, raised and unsurrendered there.

All unheard their mirthful laughter, wrapped in thought of feudal days,
Wistfully on that old armour grew the child's unconscious gaze;
Till a melody ascending and a voice whose tone was joy,
Wakened to the life unheeded round him that enthusiast Boy.

There a Maiden in her beauty sate, her fingers intertwined
'Mid the golden harpstrings wandering like the light breath of the wind;
From the lamps a softened radiance shower-like o'er her form was shed,
Floating o'er her face uplifted, o'er her lustrous shoulders spread.

Round her forehead clustering tresses, falling in redundant rings,
Like the golden threads of sunlight, blended with the flashing strings;
And her fingers, wandering wind-like o'er those wires gave a tone.
As if their fine life and feeling thrilled responsive to her own.

Like a fairy sitting lonely on the shores of old romance,
Like a seraph such as rises on the saint's ecstatic trance,
Sate that lady in her beauty with her harp beside her strung,
Waiting till the inspiration of the prophet touched her tongue.

'T was a song of love confiding, that doth its own life impart;
All that eyes and lips betray not, hidden in the secret heart;
The devotion of the passion that, by love forsaken, kneels
At its shrine, and all the marvel of a woman's truth reveals;

Faiths, heart cherished, hopes rejected, tremblingly protected there;
Vows from the profound soul plighted, breathed and broken in despair;
Feeling outraged and indignant, clinging slave-like to its chain,
Love itself upon its altar madly sacrificed in vain.

Died on air that latest cadence, each withheld his breath to hear,
Notes that with the silence folding faded on the listening ear;
But when rapture to its utterance gave confession, why was he,
That abstracted Boy, still silent? whither wandered, where was he?

He had stolen to his chamber as one erring, who would hide
Gems found of a priceless value, treasure he dare not confide:
By his pillow lowly kneeling to the One who children hears,
Poured forth he his aching rapture in his thickly gushing tears.

There with clasped hands raised, he murmured, pressed against his hidden brow;
‘I have heard them, they are Angels I have never known till now,
And the joy I feel, O Father! I would first to thee avow.
They have lived as one within me, and themselves and names I know,
Poetry and heaven-voiced Music, sent by Thee to men below,
They have entered in this bosom till its joy doth overflow.

‘I would be that harp if music of her voice those tones could wake;
I would be each note departing, so they died but for her sake,
I would follow them in spirit, and their thrilling life partake.
For I felt chords vibrate in me, while those answering strings she swept;
And I knew responding to them, that they loved me while I wept,
Hear, oh hear me, sacred angels!’—So he prayed, and, praying, slept.