414 MOURNING - MURDER. Above me are the Alps, The palaces of nature, whose vast walls The avalanche-the thunderbolt of snow! All that expands the spirit, yet appals, Gather around these summits, as to show How earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man below Who first beholds the Alps, that mighty chain - Of mountains, stretching on from east to west, A sense, a feeling that he loses not A something that informs him 't is a moment Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines, ROGERS' Italy In the soft light of your serenest skies; And lo! the Catskills print the distant sky, W. C. BRYANT, And o'er their airy tops the faint clouds driven, Forgets or which is earth or which is neaven. MOURNING.-(See FUNERAL.) T. S FAY MURDER (See ASSASSINATION.) MUSIC SINGING. 415 MUSIC-SINGING. Oh! it came over me like the sweet South, SHAKSPEARE. -As sweet and musical As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair. SHAKSPEARE. The man that hath not music in himself, And is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils — Let no man trust him. Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony. Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine, enchanting ravishment? SHAKSPEARE. MILTON. MILTON'S Comus. Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul, And lap it in Elysium. MILTON'S Comus Music the fiercest grief can charm, And fate's severest rage disarm. Music can soften pain to ease, And make despair and madness please; Our joys below it can improve, And antedate the bliss above. Music resembles poetry; in each Are numerous graces which no methods teach, And which a master-hand alone can reach. POPE. POPE'S Essay on Criticism. 416 MUSIC SINGING. Even rage itself is cheer'd with music It wakes a glad remembrance of our youth, Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast, ROWE CONGREVE Though cheerfulness and I have long been strangers, There is in souls a sympathy with sounds, LILLO COWPER'S Task. Sweet notes! they tell of former peace, Music! Oh, how faint, how weak, Why should feeling ever speak, When thou canst breathe her soul so well? Friendship's balmy words may pain, Oh! 'tis only music's strain Can sweetly soothe, and not betray! Her voice was like the warbling of a bird, MOORE. MOORE. BYRON'S Don Juan. MUSIC-SINGING. He hears, alas! no music of the spheres, BYRON'S Don Juan In fact he has no singing education, 417 BYRON'S Don Juan. The brazen trump, the spirit-stirring drum, BYRON'S Curse of Minerva. The dying night-breeze harping o'er the hills, Her deep and thrilling song Seem'd with its piercing melody to reach The soul, and in mysterious unison BYRON'S Island. Blend with all thoughts of gentleness and love. The bird retains his silver note, Though bondage chains his wing; His song is not a happy one- Voices of melting tenderness, that blend SOUTHEY J. H. BAYLY J. G. PERCIVAL Who loves not music still may pause to hark Divine interpreter thou art, Oh Song! The New Timon. The New Timon. 418 MUSIC SINGING. See to the desk Apollo's sons repair : Swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair; Murmurs the hautboy; growls the hoarse bassoon ; Rejected Addresses. Such sweet, such melting strains! Their soft harmonious cadence rises now, But leaves its thrilling memory on my ear! Methodist Protestant. How sweetly sounds each mellow note Beneath the moon's pale ray, Like lovers' sighs away! MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY. And, as thy bright lips sung, they caught So beautiful a ray, That, as I gaz'd, I almost thought The spirit of thy lay Had left, while melting in the air, MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY. Orpheus himself might hang his lyre To lap the senses all in bliss ; J. T. WATSON. |