My strains but to the careless crowd belong,
Their smiles but sorrow to my heart convey;
And all who heard my numbers erst with gladness,
If living yet, roam o'er the earth in sadness.
Long buried yearnings in my breast arise,
Yon calm and solemn spirit-realm to gain;
Like the Æolian harp's sweet melodies,
My murmuring song breathes forth its changeful strain,
A trembling seizes me, tears fill mine eyes,
And softer grows my rugged heart amain.
All I possess far distant seems to be,
The vanished only seems reality.
II.
PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN.
THE ARCHANGELS' SONG.
RAPHAEL.
The sun still chants, as in old time,
With brother-shepherds in choral song,
And with his thunder-march sublime
Moves his predestined course along.
Strength find the angels in his sight,
Though he by none may fathomed be;
Still glorious is each work of might
As when first formed in majesty.
GABRIEL.
And swift and swift, in wondrous guise,
