Doubling the splendor of the plain, There rolled the great celestial wain, To gather in the fallen grain. Its frame was built of golden bars; Its glowing wheels were lit with stars; The royal Harvest's car of cars. The snowy yoke that drew the load, On gleaming hoofs of silver trode; And music was its only goad. To no command of word or beck It moved, and felt no other check Than one white arm laid on the neck,-- The neck, whose light was overwound With bells of lilies, ringing round Their odors till the air was drowned: The starry foreheads meekly borne, With garlands looped from horn to horn, Shone like the many-colored morn. The field was cleared. Home went the bands, Like children, linking happy hands, While singing through their father's lands; Or, arms about each other thrown, With amber tresses backward blown, They moved as they were music's own. [Illustration: THE CRESCENT MOON WENT BY] The vision brightening more and more, He saw the garner's glowing door, And sheaves, like sunshine, strew the floor,-- The floor was jasper,--golden flails, Swift-sailing as a whirlwind sails, Throbbed mellow music down the vales. He saw the mansion,--all repose,-- Great corridors and porticos, Propped with the columns, shining rows; And these--for beauty was the rule-- The polished pavements, hard and cool, Redoubled, like a crystal pool. And there the odorous feast was spread; The fruity fragrance widely shed Seemed to the floating music wed. Seven angels, like the Pleiad seven, Their lips to silver clarions given, Blew welcome round the walls of heaven. In skyey garments, silky thin, The glad retainers floated in A thousand forms, and yet no din: And from the visage of the Lord, Like splendor from the Orient poured, A smile illumined all the board. Far flew the music's circling sound; Then floated back, with soft rebound, To join, nor mar, the converse round, Sweet notes, that, melting, still increased, Such as ne'er cheered the bridal feast Of king in the enchanted East. Did any great door ope or close, It seemed the birth-time of repose, The faint sound died where it arose; And they who passed from door to door; Their soft feet on the polished floor Met their soft shadows,--nothing more. Then once again the groups were drawn Through corridors, or down the lawn, Which bloomed in beauty like a dawn. Where countless fountains leapt alway, Veiling their silver heights in spray, The choral people held their way. There, midst the brightest, brightly shone Dear forms he loved in years agone,-- The earliest loved,--the earliest flown. He heard a mother's sainted tongue, A sister's voice, who vanished young, While one still dearer sweetly sung!