Volume I Part 27 (2/2)

Then said the angel--and his face Lightened abroad until the place Grew larger for a moment's s.p.a.ce,--

The long aisles flas.h.i.+ng out in light, And nave and transept, columns white And arches crossed, being clear to sight

As if the roof were off and all Stood in the noon-sun,--”Lo, I call To other hearts as liberal.

”This pedal strikes out in the air: My instrument has room to bear Still fuller strains and perfecter.

”Herein is room, and shall be room While Time lasts, for new hearts to come Consummating while they consume.

”What living man will bring a gift Of his own heart and help to lift The tune?--The race is to the swift.”

So asked the angel. Straight the while, A company came up the aisle With measured step and sorted smile;

Cleaving the incense-clouds that rise, With winking unaccustomed eyes And love-locks smelling sweet of spice.

One bore his head above the rest As if the world were dispossessed, And one did pillow chin on breast,

Right languid, an as he should faint; One shook his curls across his paint And moralized on worldly taint;

One, slanting up his face, did wink The salt rheum to the eyelid's brink, To think--O G.o.ds! or--not to think.

Some trod out stealthily and slow, As if the sun would fall in snow If they walked to instead of fro;

And some, with conscious ambling free, Did shake their bells right daintily On hand and foot, for harmony;

And some, composing sudden sighs In att.i.tudes of point-device, Rehea.r.s.ed impromptu agonies.

And when this company drew near The spirits crowned, it might appear Submitted to a ghastly fear;

As a sane eye in master-pa.s.sion Constrains a maniac to the fas.h.i.+on Of hideous maniac imitation

In the least geste--the dropping low O' the lid, the wrinkling of the brow, Exaggerate with mock and mow,--

So mastered was that company By the crowned vision utterly, Swayed to a maniac mockery.

One dulled his eyeb.a.l.l.s, as they ached With Homer's forehead, though he lacked An inch of any; and one racked

His lower lip with restless tooth, As Pindar's rus.h.i.+ng words forsooth Were pent behind it; one his smooth

Pink cheeks did rumple pa.s.sionate Like aeschylus, and tried to prate On trolling tongue of fate and fate;

One set her eyes like Sappho's--or Any light woman's; one forbore Like Dante, or any man as poor

In mirth, to let a smile undo His hard-shut lips; and one that drew Sour humours from his mother, blew

His sunken cheeks out to the size Of most unnatural jollities, Because Anacreon looked jest-wise;

So with the rest: it was a sight A great world-laughter would requite, Or great world-wrath, with equal right

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