Everything that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by In sweet music is such art: Killing care, and grief of heart, Fall asleep, or, hearing, die. William Shakespeare. 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 chiming spheres, To charme our soules, as thou enchant'st our ears. Robert Herrick. INWARD MUSIC There are in this loud stunning tide Of human care and crime, With whom the melodies abide Of everlasting chime; Who carry music in their heart Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, Plying their daily toil with busier feet, Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat. John Keble. REMEMBERED MUSIC Thick-rushing, like an ocean vast Or in low murmurs they began, Rising and rising momently, As o'er a harp Æolian A fitful breeze, until they ran Up to a sudden ecstasy. And then, like minute-drops of rain. Ringing in water silverly, They lingering, dropped and dropped again, Till it was almost like a pain To listen when the next would be. James Russell Lowell. MUSIC ("Merchant of Venice," Act. V., Scene I) Lorenzo. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music hold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Enter Musicians. Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn! With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, And draw her home with music. (Music.) Jessica. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: For do but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their blood; You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 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, |