Part 47 (1/2)

Forget, forget,-- And if thou hast been weeping, Let go the thoughts that bind thee to thy grief: Lie still, and watch the singing angels, reaping The golden harvest of thy sorrow, sheaf by sheaf; Or count thy joys like flocks of snow-white sheep That one by one come creeping Into the quiet fold, until thou sleep, And so forget, forget!

Forget, forget,-- Thou art a child and knowest So little of thy life! But music tells The secret of the world through which thou goest To work with morning song, to rest with evening bells: Life is in tune with harmony so deep That when the notes are lowest Thou still canst lay thee down in peace and sleep, For G.o.d will not forget.

V

HUNTING SONG

Out of the garden of playtime, out of the bower of rest, Fain would I follow at daytime, music that calls to a quest.

Hark, how the galloping measure Quickens the pulses of pleasure; Gaily saluting the morn With the long, clear note of the hunting-horn, Echoing up from the valley, Over the mountain side,-- Rally, you hunters, rally, Rally, and ride!

Drink of the magical potion music has mixed with her wine, Full of the madness of motion, joyful, exultant, divine!

Leave all your troubles behind you, Ride where they never can find you, Into the gladness of morn, With the long, clear note of the hunting-horn, Swiftly o'er hillock and hollow, Sweeping along with the wind,-- Follow, you hunters, follow, Follow and find!

What will you reach with your riding? What is the charm of the chase?

Just the delight and the striding swing of the jubilant pace.

Danger is sweet when you front her,-- In at the death, every hunter!

Now on the breeze the mort is borne In the long, clear note of the hunting-horn, Winding merrily, over and over,-- Come, come, come!

Home again, Ranger! home again, Rover!

Turn again, home!

VI

DANCE-MUSIC

1

Now let the sleep-tune blend with the play-tune, Weaving the mystical spell of the dance; Lighten the deep tune, soften the gay tune, Mingle a tempo that turns in a trance.

Half of it sighing, half of it smiling, Smoothly it swings, with a triplicate beat; Calling, replying, yearning, beguiling, Wooing the heart and bewitching the feet.

Every drop of blood Rises with the flood, Rocking on the waves of the strain; Youth and beauty glide Turning with the tide-- Music making one out of twain, Bearing them away, and away, and away, Like a tone and its terce-- Till the chord dissolves, and the dancers stay, And reverse.

Violins leading, take up the measure, Turn with the tune again,--clarinets clear Answer their pleading,--harps full of pleasure Sprinkle their silver like light on the mere.

Semiquaver notes, Merry little motes, Tangled in the haze Of the lamp's golden rays, Quiver everywhere In the air, Like a spray,-- Till the fuller stream of the might of the tune, Gliding like a dream in the light of the moon, Bears them all away, and away, and away, Floating in the trance of the dance.

2

Then begins a measure stately, Languid, slow, serene; All the dancers move sedately, Stepping leisurely and straitly, With a courtly mien; Crossing hands and changing places, Bowing low between, While the minuet inlaces Waving arms and woven paces,-- Glittering damaskeen.

Where is she whose form is folden In its royal sheen?

From our longing eyes withholden By her mystic girdle golden, Beauty sought but never seen, Music walks the maze, a queen.

VII

WAR-MUSIC

Break off! Dance no more!

Danger is at the door.

Music is in arms.

To signal war's alarms.