« PreviousContinue »
Not to the realm of breathed sounds alone
Belong all instruinents of reiody:
No less than 'Music's self hath Poesy Her instruments, perchance of finer tore. She hath her sonnet-trumpet for her own,
Her viols and her pipes of balladry, :
And silver flutes for love's sweet aiinistry In many a tender lyric softly blowr. List, how in, elearest harmony thay. sound, Cymbals arid drurns beating in battle-song, Harp-strains of holy pša!mody, up-steal
ing; And, heard through all with mighty voice profound
Outpoured, a wave of sound sustained and
strong, The solemn epic's thunderous organ-pealing!
MUSIC AND POETRY
Sing, poets, as ye list, of fields, of flowers,
found Where soul through sende - transmutes this
world of ours. There is a life intense beyond your powers Of utterance, which the ear alone has found In the aerial fields of rhythmic sound The inviciate pathways and air-woven bowers Built by entwining melodies and chords. Ah, could I find some correspondent sign Matching such wondrous art with fitting
words! But vain the task. Within his hallowed shrine Apollo veils his face. No muse records In human speech such mysteries divine.
Yet words though weak are all that poets own Wherewith their muse translates that kindred
muse Of Harmony, whose subtle forms and hues Float in the unlanguaged poesy of Tone. And so no true-souled artist stands alone; But all are brothers, though one hand may
A magic wand the others must refuse,
runs: One aim, one work, one destiny they share.
Christopher P. Cranch.
FROM "THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM”
If music and sweet poetry agree,
One god is god of both, as poets feign;
I see small difference 'Twixt one sound and its next. All seems
akin And run on the same feet, ever.
Peace! Thou want'st : One heavenly sense, and speak'si 'in igno
rance. Seest thou no differing shadows which divide The rose and poppy ? . 'Tis the same with But's hinged with different music.
sounds. There's not a minute in the round of time
Between the thought and its swift utterance – Ere silence buds to sound - the angels, listen
ing, Hear infinite varieties of song! And they who turn the lightning-rapid spheres Have flown an evening's journey.
Bryan W. Procter (“Barry Cornwall”).
SEA AND SHORE 1
Music, I yield to thee;
As swimmer to the sea
Bear me upon thy breast
In rapture and at rest, Bathe me in pure delight and make me strong;
From strife and struggle bring release, And draw the waves of passion into tides of
Remember'd songs, most dear,
"From “ Music and Other Poems,” copyright, 1904, by Charles Scribner's Sons.