Part 39 (1/2)

And when a voice like yours its song doth pour, If it can raise palace and tower no more, It can each ugly fabric melt away, Bidding the fancy fairer scenes portray; Its soft and brilliant tones our thoughts can wing To climes whence they congenial magic bring; As by the sweet Italian voice is given Dream of the radiance of Italia's heaven.

Whether in round, low notes the strain may swell, As if some tale of woe or wrong to tell, Or swift and light the upward notes are heard, With the full carolling clearness of a bird, The stream of sound untroubled flows along, And no obstruction mars your finished song.

No stifled notes, no gasp, no ill-taught graces, No vulgar trills in worst-selected places, None of the miseries which haunt a land Where all would learn what so few understand, Afflict in hearing you; in you we find The finest organ, and informed by mind.

And as, in that same fable I have quoted, It is of that town-making artist noted, That, where he leaned his lyre upon a stone, The stone stole somewhat of that lovely tone, And afterwards each untaught pa.s.ser-by, By touching it, could rouse the melody,-- Even thus a heart once by your music thrilled, An ear which your delightful voice has filled, In memory a talisman have found To repel many a dull, harsh, after-sound; And, as the music lingered in the stone, After the minstrel and the lyre were gone, Even so my thoughts and wishes, turned to sweetness, Lend to the heavy hours unwonted fleetness; And common objects, calling up the tone, I caught from you, wake beauty not their own.

SISTRUM.[48]

Triune, shaping, restless power, Life-flow from life's natal hour, No music chords are in thy sound; By some thou'rt but a rattle found; Yet, without thy ceaseless motion, To ice would turn their dead devotion.

Life-flow of my natal hour, I will not weary of thy power, Till in the changes of thy sound A chord's three parts distinct are found.

I will faithful move with thee, G.o.d-ordered, self-fed energy.

Nature in eternity.

IMPERFECT THOUGHTS.

The peasant boy watches the midnight sky; He sees the meteor dropping from on high; He hastens whither the bright guest hath flown, And finds--a ma.s.s of black, unseemly stone.

Disdainful, disappointed, turns he home.

If a philosopher that way had come, He would have seized the waif with great delight, And honored it as an aerolite.

But truly it would need a Cuvier's mind High meaning in _my_ meteors to find.

Well, in my museum there is room to spare-- I'll let them stay till Cuvier goes there!

SADNESS.

Lonely lady, tell me why That abandonment of eye?

Life is full, and nature fair; How canst thou dream of dull despair?

Life is full and nature fair; A dull folly is despair; But the heart lies still and tame For want of what it may not claim.

Lady, chide that foolish heart, And bid it act a n.o.bler part; The love thou couldst be bid resign Never could be worthy thine.

O, I know, and knew it well, How unworthy was the spell In its silken band to bind My heaven-born, heaven-seeking mind.

Thou lonely moon, thou knowest well Why I yielded to the spell; Just so thou didst condescend Thy own precept to offend.

When wondering nymphs thee questioned why That abandonment of eye, Crying, ”Dian,[49] heaven's queen, What can that trembling eyelash mean?”

Waning, over ocean's breast, Thou didst strive to hide unrest From the question of their eyes, Unseeing in their dull surprise.

Thy Endymion had grown old; Thy only love was marred with cold; No longer to the secret cave Thy ray could pierce, and answer have.