While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall
Of curls descending, bells as musical
As those that on the golden-shafted trees
Of EDEN shake in the eternal breeze,[1]
Rung round their steps, at every bound more sweet.
As 'twere the ecstatic language of their feet.
At length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreathed
Within each other's arms; while soft there breathed
Thro' the cool casement, mingled with the sighs
Of moonlight flowers, music that seemed to rise
From some still lake, so liquidly it rose;
And as it swelled again at each faint close
The ear could track thro' all that maze of chords
And young sweet voices these impassioned words:--
A SPIRIT there is whose fragrant sigh
Is burning now thro' earth and air;
Where cheeks are blushing the Spirit is nigh,
Where lips are meeting the Spirit is there!
- ↑ "To which will be added, the sound of the bells, hanging on the trees, which will be put in motion by the wind proceeding from the throne of God, as often as the blessed wish for music."--Sale.
