He ended: and a kind of spell <br />Upon the silent listeners fell. <br />His solemn manner and his words <br />Had touched the deep, mysterious chords <br />That vibrate in each human breast <br />Alike, but not alike confessed. <br />The spiritual world seemed near; <br />And close above them, full of fear, <br />Its awful adumbration passed, <br />A luminous shadow, vague and vast. <br />They almost feared to look, lest there, <br />Embodied from the impalpable air, <br />They might behold the Angel stand, <br />Holding the sword in his right hand. <br /> <br />At last, but in a voice subdued, <br />Not to disturb their dreamy mood, <br />Said the Sicilian: 'While you spoke, <br />Telling your legend marvellous, <br />Suddenly in my memory woke <br />The thought of one, now gone from us,-- <br />An old Abate, meek and mild, <br />My friend and teacher, when a child, <br />Who sometimes in those days of old <br />The legend of an Angel told, <br />Which ran, as I remember, thus.'<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tales-of-a-wayside-inn-part-1-interlude-iii/
