“And will for good will come,” she answer’d back. “As in the older advent, so to-day, Would I believe in power behind sweet song To hold the universe in harmony, Expelling evil and impelling good Through all the limits of created life,— A spirit’s power!—What though we mortals here With eyes material cannot see the hosts That issue forth in forms that while they move Awake around us echoes everywhere! We spring to spy them, but we only hear Their rustle in the trees by which they pass; Or where, with dash of water o’er the rocks, They leave the sea or linger in the rill. At times they rest a moment on the earth, When twilight hides them, sighing gently then, And lull to dreams, with tones in sympathy, The lowly insect and the lowing herd. At times, amid the winds that rise at morn, They sweep across the land and startle sleep From nervous birds that twitter in their track; And, now and then, in clouds that close the sky, They bound adown the rift the lightning cleaves Till sunlight overhead pours through again. A spirit’s power has music; and must rule Unrivall’d still as far as ear can heed, Or reason hark behind it. All the chords Of all things true are tuned by hands divine, And thrill to feel the touch!— But sounds may rise In souls untuned, like harp-strings when they snap, Or, though more soft than dreamland breezes are, May fright like forests when the dark leaves blow About the solitary murderer— And sweetest airs to sweetest moods may bring But foretastes vague of harmonies on high. The school-girl hears her comrade’s ringing laugh,— ’Tis but the key-note trill’d before the tune. The maiden heeds her lover’s mellow plea,— ’Tis but the gamut rill’d ere surge the chords. The dame is moved by tones that cheer her home,— And they perchance prelude the theme of heaven. For even blows of toil and battle-guns May be the drum-rolls of the martial strains That rise to greet the glory yet to come. Ay, wait we long enough, we all may hear In all things music; far above, at last, May hear the treble thrilling down from heaven, And e’en from hell no discord in the jar That only thunders back a trembling bass.” Thus Edith spake; while I, left lonely all, Beheld her, ardent for her art, a cloud, Aglow by dawn, then drawn away, away. XXXIX.