The angel.

    —­Why thus, apart,—­the swift-winged herald spake,
    —­Sit ye with silent lips and unstrung lyres
     While the trisagion’s blending chords awake
     In shouts of joy from all the heavenly choirs?

The first spirit.

    —­Chide not thy sisters,—­thus the answer came;
    —­Children of earth, our half-weaned nature clings
     To earth’s fond memories, and her whispered name
     Untunes our quivering lips, our saddened strings;

     For there we loved, and where we love is home,
     Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts,
     Though o’er us shine the jasper-lighted dome:—­

     The chain may lengthen, but it never parts!

     Sometimes a sunlit sphere comes rolling by,
     And then we softly whisper,—­can it be? 
     And leaning toward the silvery orb, we try
     To hear the music of its murmuring sea;

     To catch, perchance, some flashing glimpse of green,
     Or breathe some wild-wood fragrance, wafted through
     The opening gates of pearl, that fold between
     The blinding splendors and the changeless blue.

The angel.

—­Nay, sister, nay! a single healing leaf
Plucked from the bough of yon twelve-fruited tree,
Would soothe such anguish,—­deeper stabbing grief
Has pierced thy throbbing heart—­

The first spirit.

                                      —–­Ah, woe is me! 
     I from my clinging babe was rudely torn;
     His tender lips a loveless bosom pressed
     Can I forget him in my life new born? 
     O that my darling lay upon my breast!

The angel.

—­And thou?

The second spirit.

I was a fair and youthful bride,

     The kiss of love still burns upon my cheek,
     He whom I worshipped, ever at my side,
    —­Him through the spirit realm in vain I seek.

     Sweet faces turn their beaming eyes on mine;
     Ah! not in these the wished-for look I read;
     Still for that one dear human smile I pine;
     Thou and none other!—­is the lover’s creed.

The angel.

    —­And whence thy sadness in a world of bliss
     Where never parting comes, nor mourner’s tear? 
     Art thou, too, dreaming of a mortal’s kiss
     Amid the seraphs of the heavenly sphere?

The third spirit.

    —­Nay, tax not me with passion’s wasting fire;
     When the swift message set my spirit free,
     Blind, helpless, lone, I left my gray-haired sire;
     My friends were many, he had none save me.

     I left him, orphaned, in the starless night;
     Alas, for him no cheerful morning’s dawn! 
     I wear the ransomed spirit’s robe of white,
     Yet still I hear him moaning, She is gone!