IV

That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft;

      And so it chanced, for many a door was wide,

      From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft,

      The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide:

      The level chambers, ready with their pride,

      Were glowing to receive a thousand guests:

      The carved angels, ever eager-eyed,

      Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests,

With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts.