The ancient paused, and, unperceived till then, A wondrous harp his bosom swung before, Such harp as played the shepherd psalmist[11] when A maddening rage his monarch seized and tore, And music's magic quelled satanic power. Seated, his form against the crag reclined, He waved me to his feet, and forth did pour, As pours Niagara on the plaintive wind, 420 Floods of majestic song, falling from mind to mind. Full tale of wonders told, I may not tell, Though mind be heir to all of mystery; With milk of truth the breasts of wisdom swell, Sufficing past and present infancy. But matching all the modern eye may see With marvels promised to the future sight, 'Twas as the shrub unto the sheltering tree, The floating swan unto the eagle's flight, The hillock to the snow-crowned summit, lost in light. 430 Silent he towered above me, harp in hand,-- Was it a dream? Could dream so vivid be?-- And with his mantle's fold my forehead fanned. Then leapt to life the flame of poesy! Was it a vision of my destiny? Upon the mount, as erst, I stood alone, And naught was there of muse or minstrelsy; Save that afar still trembled that strange tone, And something said within: "That harp is now thine own." CANTO THREE Elect of Elohim[1] Sing I a song of aeons gone, 440 Of life from mystery sprung, Ere sun, or moon, or rolling stars Their radiance earthward flung; Ere spirit-winged intelligence Forsook those shining spheres. Exceeding glory there to gain Through mortal toil and tears. A song they learn whose lives eterne Transcend yon twinkling night, Pale Olea's silver beam[2] outsoar, 450 Shinea's golden flight; Passing the angel sentries by, Mounting o'er stars and suns, To where the orbs that govern burn, Royal and regnant ones. Declare, O Muse of mightier wing, Of loftier lore, than mine! Why God is God, and man may be Both human and divine; Why Sons of God, 'mid sons of men, 460 Unrecognized may dwell, So masked in dense mortality That none their truth can tell. From worlds afar, from heavenmost star, Heard I, or seemed to hear, A sweet refrain, as summer rain, A cadence soft and clear. A voice, a harp,--Was it the same?-- Harping those harps among, Leading the lyric universe, 470 On those high hills of song? In solemn council sat the Gods; From Kolob's height supreme, Celestial light blazed forth afar O'er countless kokaubeam; And faintest tinge, the fiery fringe Of that resplendent day, 'Lumined the dark abysmal realm Where earth in chaos lay.