To soothe his pain, Sleep's tender palm Laid on his brow its touch of balm,-- His brain received the slumberous calm; And soon, that angel without name, Her robe a dream, her face the same, The giver of sweet visions, came. She touched his eyes: no longer sealed, They saw a troop of reapers wield Their swift blades in a ripened field: At each thrust of their snowy sleeves, A thrill ran through the future sheaves, Bustling like rain on forest-leaves. They were not brawny men who bowed With harvest-voices rough and loud, But spirits moving as a cloud: Like little lightnings in their hold, The silver sickles manifold Slid musically through the gold. Oh, bid the morning-stars combine To match the chorus clear and fine That rippled lightly down the line,-- A cadence of celestial rhyme, The language of that cloudless clime, To which their shining hands kept time! Behind them lay the gleaming rows, Like those long clouds the sunset shows On amber meadows of repose: But like a wind the binders bright Soon followed in their mirthful might, And swept them into sheaves of light. 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. 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.