Again your strains float, sinking on the wind, Soft, wild, and mournful all; now melt away, Faintly perceived, like some expiring ray Of memory that trembles o'er the mind, Lovely in its departure, still enshrined As the blest relic of a happy day. Peter Bayley, Jr. AN OLD TUNE (Gerard de Nerval) There is an air for which I would disown Mozart's, Rossini's, Weber's melodies, A sweet sad air that languishes and sighs, And keeps its secret charm for me alone. Whene'er I hear that music vague and old, An old red castle, strong with stony towers, The windows gay with many-colored glass, |