y-notes of the
wonderful harmonies the angels sing aloft.

"Lucy! my beloved!"

"O Richard!"

Out in the world there, on the skirts of the woodland, a sheep-boy pipes
to meditative eve on a penny-whistle.

Love's musical instrument is as old, and as poor: it has but two stops;
and yet, you see, the cunning musician does thus much with it!

Other speech they have little; light foam playing upon waves of feeling,
and of feeling compact, that bursts only when the sweeping volume is too
wild, and is no more than their sigh of tenderness spoken.

Perhaps love played his tune so well because their natures had unblunted
edges, and were keen for bliss, confiding in it as natural food. To
gentlemen and ladies he fine-draws upon the viol, ravishingly; or blows
into the mellow bassoon; or rouses the heroic ardours of the trumpet; or,
it may be, commands the whole Orchestra for them. And they are pleased.
He is still the cunning musician. They languish, and taste ecstasy: but
it is, however sonorous, an earthly concert. For them the spheres move
not to two notes. They have lost, or forfeited and never known, the first
super-sensual spring of the ripe senses into passion; when they carry the
soul with them, and have the privileges of spirits to walk disembodied,
boundlessly to feel. Or one has it, and the other is a dead body.
Ambrosia let them eat, and drink the nectar: here sit a couple to whom
Love's simple bread and water is a finer feast.

Pipe, happy sheep-bop, Love! Irradiated angels, unfold your wings and
lift your voices!

They have out-flown philosophy. Their instinct has shot beyond the ken of
science. They were made for their Eden.

"And this divine gift was in store for me!"

So runs the internal outcry of each, clasping each: it is their recurring
refrain to the harmonies. How it illumined the years gone by and suffused
the living Future!

"You for me: I for you!"

"We are born for each other!"

They believe that the angels have been busy about them from their
cradles. The celestial hosts have worthily striven to bring them
together. And, O victory! O wonder! after toil and pain, and difficulties
exceeding, the celestial hosts have succeeded!

"Here we two sit who are written above as one!"

Pipe, happy Love! pipe on to these dear innocents!

The tide of colour has ebbed from the upper sky. In the West the sea of
sunken fire draws back; and the stars leap forth, and tremble, and retire
before the a