Mary! my children! come! his accents hear;
See age and youth one heavenly beauty share!"
They with him moved, (yet ne'er the vision saw,)
Until the father paused, transfixed in sacred awe.
XLIII.
For strange to tell, youth's lingering light began
To spread fresh glories o'er that aged face;
Till over beard, and hair, and visage wan,
Burst the full splendor of angelic grace;
A lambent flame about the forehead ran,
And rainbow hues the earthly robes displace;
The curling locks, like beams of living light,
Streamed back and glowed insufferably bright.
XLIV.
The figure seemed to grow; its dazzling eyes
Were for a while upon Sire Williams bent,
Then upward turned, and, looking to the skies,
Spake hope in God with silence eloquent.
Still did it brighten, still its stature rise,
With Heaven's own grandeur seeming to augment;—
The pilgrim staff no longer did it hold,
But on an Anchor leant that blazed ethereal gold.
XLV.
Our Father gazed, and, from that heavenward eye,
Beheld the clear angelic radiance flow;
And saw that figure, as it towered on high,
With inward glory fill, dilate and grow
Translucent,—and then fade,—as from the sky
The sunset fades or fades the radiant bow;
Until, dissolving in transparent air,
It disappeared and left no traces there.
