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Everything that heard him play,
Hung their heads, and then lay by -
TO MUSIC - A SONG
Musick, thou queen of heaven, care-charming
spel, That strik'st a stillnesse into hell; Thou that tam’st tygers, and fierce storms that
rise, With thy soul-melting lullabies; Fall down, down, down, from those thy chim
ing spheres, To charme our soules, as thou enchant'st our ears.
There are in this loud stunning tide
Of human care and crime,
With whom the melodies abide
Of everlasting chime;
Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, Plying their daily toil with busier feet, Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.
Thick-rushing, like an ocean vast
Of bisons the far prairie shaking,
Draws seaward from its foamy breaking.
Or in low murmurs they began,
Rising and rising momently,
Up to a sudden ecstasy.
And then, like minute-drops of rain
Ringing in water silverly,
Till it was almost like a pain
James Russell Lowell.
(“Merchant of Venice,” Act. V., Scene 1)
Lorenzo. How sweet the moonlight sleeps
upon this bank!
Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn!
never merry when I hear sweet music. Lor. The reason is, your spirits are atten
tive: For do but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neigh
ing loud, Which is the hot condition of their blood; If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, Or any air of music touch their ears, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze, By the sweet power of music: therefore, the
poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and
floods; Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage, But music for the time doth change his
nature: The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet
sounds, Is fit for treason, stratagems and spoils : The motions of his spirit are dull as night,