THE MUSIC LOVERS TREASURY HELEN PHILBROOK PATTEN Sydney Cox Library of Music and Danoe Lincoln Halt ComeH University Ithaca, NY 14853-4101 3 1924 100 780 463 Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924100780463 THE MUSIC LOVERS' TREASURY HiVi'''ll 1 ^1^ 1 1^^ 1 St. Cecilia From Painting by G. Naujoi Wf)t MviBit 3Lot)ers' Edited by Author of "The Year's Festivals " Boston <^ Dana Estes & Company J* Publishers HARVARD [UNIVERSlTVl UDRAftY MOV 20 «M«i HARVARD MUSIC LIBRARY REJECTED Copyright, igoj By Dana Estes & Company All rights reserved Published September, 1905 COLONIAL PRESS EUctrotyped and Printed by C. H. Sintonds &' Co. Boston, U.S.Ai ACKNOWLEDGMENT Thanks are due owners of copyright for the use of numerous selections. Poems by the follow- ing writers are included by permission of and by special arrangement with — Houghton, Mifflin & Co., the authorized publishers , t) of their works : Arlo Bates, Christopher P. Cranch, -j- Annie Adams Fields, Emma Lazarus, H. W. Long- .<:'fellow, J. R. LoweU, William Roscoe Thayer, T. W. i^jParsons, Josephine Preston Peabody, Edward Row- \/land Sill, Harriet Prescott Spofford ('' Music in the ^ Night"), Celia Thaxter, Joseph Russell Taylor. Charles Scribner's Sons : Anne Reeve Aldrich, Sidney Lanier, Henry Van Dyke. Forbes & Co. : Sir Rennell Rodd. Small, Maynard & Co.: John B. Tabb, Zitella Cocke, Richard Hovey, Harriet Prescott Spofford (" Trumpets in Lohengrin "), Walt Whitman. Herbert B. Turner & Co. : William Stanley Braith- waite. Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. : Richard Burton. The Century Co. : Richard Watson Gilder. vi Acknowledgment The editor would make personal acknowledg- ments to the following authors who have given individual permission to include copyright poems : Nathan Haskell Dole, William Stanley Braithwaite, Richard Watson Gilder, Frederic Lawrence Knowles ; also to Prof. Oscar Kuhns for the permission to include his translation of Martin Luther's " Frau Musika." CONTENTS PAGE Abt Vogler. Robert Browning . . .165 A Chopin Prelude. Richard Burton . .152 Adele Aus Der Ohe. Richard Watson Gilder 173 After Music. Josephine Preston Peabody . 55 Alexander's Feast, or the Power of Music. John Dryden ...... 26 A Lost Chord. Adelaide Anne Procter . . 92 A Mazurka of Chopin. Sir Rennell Rodd . 1 80 A Memory of Rubinstein. Richard IVaison Gilder ....... 193 A Music Lesson. Alexander H. Japp . .120 A Musical Instrument. Elizabeth Barrett Browning . . . . . .143 A Prelude. Richard Burton . . . . 1 1 S An Old Tune. Andrew Lang ... 83 Apostrophe to Johann Sebastian Bach. Nathan Haskell Dole 175 A Song to the Lute in Musicke. Richard Edwards . . . . . . .17 A Symphony. Henry Morgan Stone . . 203 vii viii Contents PAGE At a Solemn Music. John Milton ... 22 A Violinist. Francis William Bourdillon . 154 Bach. Zitella Cocke 186 Bach, in the Fugues and Preludes. William Watson 179 Beethoven. Zitella Cocke . . . .188 Beethoven. Margaret Fuller Ossoli . .192 Beethoven. Celia Thaxter . . . -193 Beethoven. John Todhunter ... 178 Beethoven and Angelo. John B. Tabb . . 16 Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. Christopher P. Crunch ....... iggt Beethoven's Music to Faust. Henry Johnson . 191 Beethoven's Seventh Symphony. Lyman W. Allen . 201 Beethoven's Sixth Symphony. Annie Adams Fields ... ... 200 Beethoven's Third Symphony. Richard Hovey 198 Bugle Song. Alfred Tennyson . . -131 Chopin. Zitella Cocke 180 Chopin. Emma Lazarus .... 183 Chopin. Celia Thaxter . . . . .196 Chopin's Nocturne in G Minor. Arlo Bates . 177 Choric Song. Alfred Tennyson ... 47 Dissonances. Richard Burton ... 67 Essipoff. Richard Watson Gilder . . . 206 From -'A Song for Occupations." Walt Whitman ....... 22 From " Song of Myself." Walt Whitman . 129 Contents IX From " The Passionate Pilgrim." William Shakespeare ..... Handel's Largo. Richard Watson Gilder Harp of the North. Sir Walter Scott . Hassan's Music. Thomas Bailey Aldrich Hearing Music. Leigh Hunt . " He'd Nothing but His Violin." Mary Kyle Dallas . . . ■-■- Hushed Is the Lyre — The Hand that Swept." Henry Kirke White .... Influence of Music. William Shakespeare Instrumental Music. Margaret Fuller Ossoli Interlude. Nathan Haskell Dole . Inward Music. John Keble Love and Music. Philip Bourke Marston Mozart. Zitella Cocke . Mozart. Margaret Fuller Ossoli . Music. William Lisle Bowles Music. John Vance Cheney Music. William Congreve Music. Christopher P. Cranch Music. Richard Garnett Music. Archibald Lampman . Music. Walter Savage Landor Music. Bryan W. Procter Music. Samuel Rogers . Music. William Shakespeare Music. William Shakespeare Music. Percy Bysshe Shelley 13 182 141 74 69 151 143 42 71 206 43 S3 194 190 211 61 S3 S6 72 70 70 14 211 4S 211 48 X Contents PAGB Music. Sir Rennell Rodd . . . -55 Music. William Strode . . . . -52 Music and Memory. John Albee ... 54 Music and Poetry. Christopher P. Crunch . 12 Music in an Avenue. Cara E. Whiton-Stone 81 Music in tlie Night. Harriet Prescott Spofford 94 Music of Hungary. Anne Reeve Aldrich . 84 Musica Trionfante. Thomas W. Parsons . 62 My Old Guitar. F. G. Hinsdale . . . 132 O Music ! Sphere-descended Maid. William Collins ....... 25 Ode for Music on St. Cecilia's Day. Alexander Pope 35 Of Music. Richard Burton .... 64 Old Songs. Richard Burton . . . -91 On jEoIus's Harp. James Thomson . . 148 On a Lute Found in a Sarcophagus. Edmund Gosse . . . . . . .136 On Hearing an ^olian Harp. Peter Bayley, Jr. 82 On Hearing a Little Musical Box. Leigh Hunt 123 On Music. William Stanley Braithwaile . 68 On Music. Walter Savage Landor . . 66 On Music. Thomas Moore .... 50 On Sivori's Violin. Frances Sargent Osgood . 146 Our Lady of Music. Martin Luther . . 33 Persistent Music. Philip Bourke Marston . 51 Power of Music. William Wordsworth . 77 Psalm CL. Anonymous . . . . .212 Remembered Music. James Russell Lowell . 44 Contents xi PAGE Schubert. Zitella Cocke 178 Schubert's (Unfinished) Symphony. Frances Bartlett 19S Schumann's Sonata in A Minor. Celia Thaxter 155 Sea and Shore. Henry Van Dyke . . .15 Sisters of Music. Bryan W. Procter . . 61 Song for Saint Cecilia's Day. John Dryden . 18 Songs without Words. Robert J. Burdette . 125 Sonnet VIII. William Shakespeare . . 21 Sonnet CXXVIII. William Shakespeare . 68 Stradivarius. George Eliot .... 161 Suggestions of Music. Percy Bysshe Shelley 40 Symphonic Studies. Emm.a Lazarus . . i j8 Symphony. Robertson Trowbridge . . .11 The ^olian Harp. Samuel Taylor Coleridge 157 The ^olian Harp. Charles Tennyson Turner 152 The Bugle. Grenville Mellen . . . 133 The Cello. Richard Watson Gilder . .150 The Flute. Joseph Russell Taylor . . .134 The Fugue. Nathan Haskell Dole . .187 The Harp that Once through; Tara's Halls. Thomas Moore 75 The Harp the Monarch Minstrel Swept. Lord Byron 73 The Keyboard. William Watson . . .117 The Lover of Music to His Pianoforte. I^igh Hunt 85 The Lute-player of Casa Blanca. Laurence Hope 207 xu Contents The Monochord. Dante Gabriel Rossetti The Music Hall. Theodore Wratislaiv The Musical Duel. John Ford The Old Violin. Maurice Francis Egan The Organ. Nathan Haskell Dole The Organist. Katherine Lee Bates The Orchestra. Nathan Haskell Dole The Overture. Christopher P. Cranch The Piano. Archibald Lampman . The Pipe-player. Edmund Gosse . The Piper. William Blake . The Singer. Frederic Lawrence Knowles The Singers. Henry W. Longfellow The Solitary Reaper. William Wordsworth The Symphony. Helen Philbrook Patten The Violin. Warren Holden . The Violin. Richard Watson Gilder The Violin's Complaint. William Roscoe Thayer ...... The Violinist. Margaret Steele Anderson Thy Song. Frances Laughton Mace To a Face at a Concert. Edward Rowland Sill To a Flute-player. Clarence Urmy To a Lady Playing on the Cithern. James Rus sell Lowell . . ... To a Pianiste. James Thomson To Constantia, Singing. Percy Bysshe Shelley To His Lute. William Drummond To Jane. Percy Bysshe Shelley PAGE 49 114 137 149 185 105 128 126 89 130 119 III 95 97 205 160 153 147 104 98 99 145 100 87 109 140 "3 Contents xiii To Laura, Playing. Frederick Schiller . To Leonora, Singing at Rome, /okn Milton To Music — A Song. Robert Herrick To Music, to Becalm His Fever. Robert Herrick ...... To My Lyre. George Darley . To Nannette Falk-Auerbach. Sidney Lanier Trumpets in Lohengrin. Harriet Prescott Spofford Viva La Musica. • Thomas W. Parsons . Wagner. Henry Johnson When Kreisler Plays. Frances Bartlett . Where Did You Learn that Music ? Sir Ren- nell Rodd ...... With a Guitar — To Jane. Percy Bysshe Shelley " With Pipe and Flute." Austin Dobson Woinomoinen's Music. George Borrow . PAGE 107 103 43 24 90 169 6S 189 170 86 loi 118 76 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS -• — PAGE St. Cecilia Frontispiece Angel with Lute i6 St. Cecilia (Louvre) 20 The Tambourine Player .... 26 Ave Maria 34 Orpheus and Eurydice . . . . j8 In the Field .46 Forever 52 Sacred Music 62 Profane Music 68 The Harp of Tara 74 Sappho and Alc^eus 78 The Dreamers 82 MiGNON 88 Evening Song 94 Song without Words . . . ,100 A Spring Concert 106 Trifling 112 Music 118 An Improvised Orchestra . . .125 XV xvi List of Illustrations VAGB Song 130 Dilettante Quartette . . . .138 Sappho 146 " He'd Only His Violin " . . . -151 Reverie 158 A Duet 164 Beethoven and His Friends . . .172 The Mandolin Player . . . .180 Adagio Consolante 186 Terpsichore 194 Adagio 200 The Dance 208 Where music dwells Lingering, and wandering on, as loth to die Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality. Wordsworth. THE MUSIC LOVERS' TREASURY SYMPHONY Not to the realm of breathed sounds alone Belong all instruments of melody: No less than Music's self hath Poesy Her instruments, perchance of finer tone. She hath her sonnet-trumpet for her own, Her viols and her pipes of balladry. And silver flutes for love's sweet ministry In many a tender lyric softly blown. List, how in clearest harmony they sound, — Cymbals and drums beating in battle-song. Harp-strains of holy psalmody, up-steal- ing; And, heard through all, with mighty voice pro- found 12 The Music Lovers' Treasury ' 'Outpioured, a wave of sound sustained and strong, The solemn epic's thunderous organ-peal- ing! Robertson Trowbridge. MUSIC AND POETRY Sing, poets, as ye list, of fields, of flowers. Of changing seasons with their brilliant round Of keen delights, or themes still more pro- found — Where soul through sense 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 inviolate 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. The Music Lovers' Treasury 13 II 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 use A magic wand the others must refuge, And painters need no sculptor's Parian stone. If Art is long, yet is her province wide. While all for truth and beauty live and dare. One sacred temple covers all her sons. Music and Poesy stand side by side. Through every member one blood-current runs: One aim, one work, one destiny they share. Christopher P- Cranch. FROM "THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM" If music and sweet poetry agree, As they must needs, the sister and the brother, Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me. 14 The Music Lovers' Treasury Becaase thou lov'st the one, and I the other. Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ; Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such. As passing all conceit, needs no defence. Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes ; And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd, Whenas himself to singing he betakes. One god is god of both, as poets feign ; One knight loves both, and both in thee remain. William Shakespeare. MUSIC 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'st in igno- rance. Seest thou no differing shadows which divide The rose and poppy? 'Tis the same with sounds. There's not a minute in the round of time The Music Lovers' Treasury 15 But's hinged with different music. In that small space 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 ^ Music, I yield to thee ; As swimmer to the sea I give my spirit to the flood of song : 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 peace. Remember'd songs, most dear. In living songs I hear, ' From " Music and Other Poems," copyright, 1904, by Charles Scribner's Sons. i6 The Music Lovers' Treasury While blending voices gently swing and sway In melodies of love. Whose mighty currents move. With singing near and singing far away ; Sweet in the glow of morning light. And sweeter still across the starlit gulf of night. Music, in thee we float. And lose the lonely note Of self in thy celestial-ordered strain, Until at last we find The life to love resigned In harmony of joy restored again; And songs that cheered our mortal days Break on the coast of light in endless hymns of praise. Henry Van Dyke. BEETHOVEN AND ANGELO One made the surging sea of tone Subservient to his rod: One from the sterile womb of stone Raised children unto God. John B. Tabb. Hngel witb %ute From painting by Melozzo da Forli The Music Lovers' Treasury 17 A SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE Where gripinge grefes the hart would wounde, And dolefulle dumps the mynde oppresse, There musicke with her silver-sound With spede is wont to send redresse : Of trobled mynds, in every sore, Swete musick hath a salve in store. In joy yt maks our mirthe abounde, In woe yt cheres our hevy sprites; Be-strawghted heads relyef hath founde, By musickes pleasant swete delights ; Our senses all, what shall I say more? Are subjecte unto musick's lore. The Gods by musicke have theire prayse ; The lyfe, the soul therein doth joye; For, as the Romayne poet sayes. In seas, whom pyrats would destroy, A dolphin saved from death most sharpe Arion playing on his harpe. O heavenly gyfte, that rules the mynd, Even as the sterne doth rule the shippe! O musicke, whom the Gods assinde 1 8 The Music Lovers' Treasury To comforte manne, whom cares would nippe ! Since thow both man and beste doest move, What beste ys he, wyll the disprove? Ascribed to Richard Edwards, 1596. SONG FOR SAINT CECILIA'S DAY From harmony, from heavenly harmony This universal frame began : When Nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay, And could not heave her head. The tuneful voice was heard from high. Arise, ye more than dead! Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry In order to their stations leap. And Music's power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony This universal frame began: From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in Man. What passion cannot Music raise and quell? When Jubal struck the chorded shell His listening brethren stood around. The Music Lovers' Treasury 19 And, wondering, on^ their faces fell To worship that celestial sound. Less than a God they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell? The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms. With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double double double beat Of the thundering drum Cries " Hark ! the foes come ; Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat ! " The soft complaining flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers. Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute. Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs and desperation. Fury, frantic indignation. Depth of pains, and height of passion For the fair disdainful dame. 20 The Music Lovers' Treasury But oh ! what art can teach. What human voice can reach The sacred organ's praise? Notes inspiring holy love. Notes that wing their heavenly ways To mend the choirs above. Orpheus could lead the savage race. And trees unrooted left their place, Sequacious of the lyre : But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher : "When to her organ vocal breath was given, An angel heard, and straight appear'd — Mistaking earth for heaven! Grand Chorus As from the power of sacred lays The spheres began to move. And sung the great Creator's praise To all the blest above ; So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high. The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky. John Dryden. St. Cecilia (Xouvre) From Painting by Pierre Mignard The Music Lovers' Treasury 2i SONNET VIII. Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly ? Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly ? Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy? If the true concord of well-tuned sounds. By unions married, do offend thine ear, They do but sweetly chide thee, who con- founds In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. Mark how one string, sweet husband to an- other. Strikes each in each by mutual ordering ; Resembling sire and child and happy mother. Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing: Whose speechless song, being many, seem- ing one. Sings this to thee, " Thou single wilt prove none." William Shakespeare. 22 The Music Lovers' Treasury FROM "A SONG FOR OCCUPATIONS " All music is what awakes from you when you are reminded by the instruments. It is not the violins and the cornets, it is not the oboe nor the beating drums, nor the score of the baritone singer singing his sweet romanza, nor that of the men's chorus, nor that of the woman's chorus, It is nearer and farther than they. Walt Whitman. AT A SOLEMN MUSIC Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'n's joy. Sphere-born harmonious sisters. Voice and Verse, Wed your divine sounds; and mixt power employ Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce ; And to our high-rais'd phantasy present That undisturbed song of pure concent, Aye sung before the sapphire-color'd throne The Music Lovers' Treasury 23 To Him that sits thereon, With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee; Where the bright seraphim in burning row Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow, And the cherubic host in thousand quires Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, With those just spirits that wear victorious palms. Hymns devout and holy psalms Singing everlastingly: That we on Earth with undiscording voice May rightly answer that melodious noise ; As once we did, till disproportion'd sin Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din Broke the fair music that all creatures made To their great Lord ; whose love their motion sway'd In perfect diapason, whilst they stood In first obedience, and their state of good. O may we soon again renew that song, And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long To His celestial consort us unite, To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light! John Milton. 24 The Music Lovers' Treasury TO MUSIC, TO BECALM HIS FEVER Charm me asleep, and melt me so. With thy delicious numbers. That being ravisht, hence I gee Away in easie slumbers. Ease my sick head, And make my bed. Thou Power that canst sever From me this ill, And quickly still. Though thou not kill. My fever. Thou sweetly canst convert the same From a consuming fire. Into a gentle-licking flame And make it thus expire. Then make me weep My paines asleep. And give me such reposes, That I, poor I, May think thereby I live and die 'Mongst roses. The Music Lovers' Treasury 25 Fall on me like a silent dew, Or like those maiden show'rs, Which, by the peepe of day, doe strew A baptisme o'er the flowers. Melt, melt my paines. With thy soft straines. That having ease me given, With full delight, I leave this light. And take my flight For heaven. Robert Herrick. O MUSIC! SPHERE - DESCENDED MAID (From "The Passions") O Music! sphere-descended maid. Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid ! Why, goddess, why, to us denied, Layst thou thy ancient lyre aside? As in that loved Athenian bower You learn'd an all-commanding power, Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd ! Can well recall what then it heard. 26 The Music Lover^ Treasury Where is thy native simple heart, Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art? Arise, as in that elder time. Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime! Thy wonders, in that godlike age. Fill thy recording Sister's page ; — 'Tis said, and I believe the tale. Thy humblest reed could more prevail. Had more of strength, diviner rage. Than all which charms this laggard age, Ev'n all at once together found Cecilia's mingled world of sound: — O bid our vain endeavors cease : Revive the just designs of Greece : Return in all thy simple state! Confirm the tales her sons relate ! William Collins. ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC 'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won By Philip's warlilte son ! Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne : Ube XEambourine ipia^er From painting by N. Sichet The Music Lovers' Treasury 27 His valiant peers were plac'd around ; Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound (So should desert in arms be crown'd) ; The lovely Thais, by his side. Sate like a blooming Eastern bride In flower of youth and beauty's pride : — Happy, happy, happy pair ! None but the brave, None but the brave. None but the brave deserves the fair ! Timotheus, placed on high Amid the tuneful quire. With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The trembling notes ascend the sky, And heavenly joys inspire. The song began, from Jove Who left his blissful seats above — Such is the power of mighty love ! A dragon's fiery form belied the god ; Sublime on radiant spires he rode. When he to fair Olympia prest. And while he sought her snowy breast ; Then, round her slender waist he curl'd, And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. 28 The Music Lovers' Treasury — The listening crowd admire the lofty sound ! A present deity ! they shout around : A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound! With ravish'd ears The monarch hears. Assumes the god. Affects to nod. And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musi- cian sung: Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young: The jolly god in triumph comes ! Sound the trumpets, beat the drums ! Flush'd with a purple grace He shows his honest face : Now give the hautboys breath, he comes, he comes ! Bacchus, ever fair and young. Drinking joys did first ordain; Bacchus' blessings are a treasure. Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain. The Music Lovers' Treasury 29 Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain ; Fought all his battles o'er again, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain! The master saw the madness rise. His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; And while he Heaven and Earth defied Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride. He chose a mournful Muse Soft pity to infuse ; He sung Darius great and good, By too severe a fate. Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate. And welt'ring in his blood ; Deserted, at his utmost need. By those his former bounty fed ; On the bare earth expos'd he lies, With not a friend to close his eyes. — With downcast looks the joyless victor sate. Revolving in his alter'd soul The various turns of Chance below ; And, now and then, a sigh he stole. And tears began to flow. The mighty master smiled to see That love was in the next degree ; 30 The Music Lovers' Treasury 'Twas but a kindred sound to move, For pity melts the mind to love. Softly sweet in Lydian measures Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble. Honor, but an empty bubble, Never ending, still beginning ; Fighting still, and still destroying; If the world be worth thy winning. Think, O think it worth enjoying: Lovely Thais sits beside thee. Take the good the gods provide thee ! — The many rend the skies with loud ap- plause ; So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain. Gazed on the fair Who caus'd his care. And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : At length, with love and wine at once opprest, The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast. Now strike the golden lyre again: A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! The Miisic Lovers' Treasury 31 Break his bands of sleep asunder And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark ! the horrid sound Has rais'd up his head : As awak'd from the dead, And amaz'd, he stares around. Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries. See the Furies arise ! See the snakes that they rear. How they hiss in their hair. And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! Behold a ghastly band, Each a torch in his hand ! Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain And unburied remain Inglorious on the plain : Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew ! ^ Behold how they toss their torches on high, How they point to the Persian abodes And glittering temples of their hostile gods. — The princes applaud with a furious joy: And the King seiz'd a flambeau with zeal to destroy ; 32 The Music Lovers' Treasury Thais led the way. To light him to his prey. And, like another Helen, fired another Troy ! — Thus, long ago. Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow. While organs yet were mute, Timotheus, to his breathing flute And sounding lyre. Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds. With Nature's mother- wit, and arts unknown before. — Let old Timotheus yield the prize. Or both divide the crown; He rais'd a mortal to the skies; She drew an angel down ! John Dryden. The Music Lovers' Treasury 33 OUR LADY OF MUSIC (Translated by Oscar Kuhns) Of all the joys that are on earth None can be found of greater worth Than those that have their source in me, Singing with sweetest melody. There is no room for evil mood Where friends are singing, true and good: Far off recedes the keenest pain. Nor envy, wrath, nor hate remain. Care, avarice, — all that men most fear, — Lo, all at once they disappear. Each one may rest assured herein. That joy in music is no sin, — But unto God more pleasing far. Than all joys else on earth that are. It oft defeats the Devil's plan. And keeps from violence many a man. King David's story this truth doth prove, Who Saul did many a time so move, 34 The Music Lovers' Treasury Playing upon his harp so sweet, He kept from murderous ways his feet. Still, and prepared, before the Lord It makes the soul to hear His Word ; Thus once He touched Elisha's heart In days of old through Music's art. The year's best time belongs to me : Then sing the birds their melody; The earth and sky's alive with wings, With ceaseless song the welkin rings ; And first the nightingale is there, Making all joyous everywhere. Singing aloud her lovely song, — To her the thanks of all belong. Yet much more thank we Thee, O Lord, Who didst create her by Thy Word, To be a singer right and true, A leader of all musicians, too. Through night and day she sings Thy praise. Nor ever wearies her voice to raise ; Thee too my song shall glorify. Whose praise shall last eternally. Martin Luther. Hve /IDaria From Painting by C. Becker The Music Lovers^ Treasury 35 ODE FOR MUSIC ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY Descend, ye Nine! descend and sing; The breathing instruments inspire. Wake into voice each silent string And sweep the sounding lyre! In a sadly pleasing strain Let the warbling lute complain; Let the loud trumpet sound. Till the roofs all around The shrill echoes rebound; While in more lengthen'd notes and slow. The deep, majestic, solemn organs blow. Hark ! the numbers soft and clear Gently steal upon the ear; Now louder and yet louder rise And fill with spreading sounds the skies : Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes, In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats : Till, by degrees, remote and small, The strains decay, And melt away In a dying, dying fall. 36 The Music Lovers' Treasury By Music, minds an equal temper know. Nor swell too high, nor sink too low. If in the breast tumultuous joys arise, Music her soft assuasive voice applies : Or when the soul is press'd with cares. Exalts her in enliv'ning airs. Warriors she fires with animated sounds ; Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds: Melancholy lifts her head, Morpheus rouses from his bed, Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes. Listening Envy drops her snakes; Intestine war no more our passions wage, And giddy factions bear away their rage. But when our country's cause provokes to arms. How martial music every bosom warms ! So when the first bold vessel dar'd the seas, High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his strain, While Argo saw her kindred trees Descend from Pelion to the main : Transported demigods stood round. And men grew heroes at the sound, Inflam'd with glory's charms : The Music Lovers' Treasury 37 Each chief his sevenfold shield display'd, And half unsheathed the shining blade; And seas, and rocks, and skies rebound. To arms, to arms, to arms ! But when through all th' infernal bounds, Which flaming Phlegethon surrounds, Love, strong as death, the poet led To the pale nations of the dead, What sounds were heard. What scenes appear'd. O'er all the dreary coasts! Dreadful gleams. Dismal screams. Fires that glow, Shrieks of woe. Sullen moans, Hollow groans. And cries of tortur'd ghosts ! But hark ! he strikes the golden lyre : And see ! the tortured ghosts respire : See, shady forms advance ! Thy stone, O Sisyphus, stands still, Ixion rests upon his wheel, And the pale spectres dance : 38 The Music Lovers' Treasury The Furies sink upon their iron beds. And snakes uncurl'd hang listening round their heads. By the streams that ever flow, By the fragrant winds that blow O'er th' Elysian flowers ; By those happy souls who dwell In yellow meads of asphodel. Or amaranthine bowers : By the heroes' armed shades. Glittering through the gloomy glades; By the youths that died for love. Wandering in the myrtle grove. Restore, restore Eurydice to life; Oh, take the husband, or return the wife ! He sung, and hell consented To hear the poet's prayer: Stem Proserpine relented. And gave him back the fair. Thus song could prevail O'er death and o'er hell, A conquest how hard and how glorious ! Though fate had fast bound her. With Styx nine times round her. Yet music and love were victorious. ©rpbeus anb lEurs&ice From painting by Robt. Beyschlag The Music Lovers' Treasury 39 But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes : Again she falls, again she dies, she dies ! How wilt thou now the fatal sisters move? No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love. Now under hanging mountains, Beside the fall of fountains. Or where Hebrus wanders. Rolling in Maeanders, All alone, Unheard, unknown. He makes his moan; And calls her ghost. For ever, ever, ever lost! Now with Furies surrounded, Despairing, confounded. He trembles, he glows. Amidst Rhodope's snows : See, wild as the winds, o'er the desert he flies ; Hark! Hsemus resounds with the Bacchanals cries — Ah, see, he dies! Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he sung, Eurydice still trembled on his tongue; Eurydice the woods, Eurydice the floods, Eurydice the rocks and hollow mountains rung. 40 The Music Lovers' Treasury 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. This the divine Cecilia found. And to her Maker's praise confin'd the sound. When the full organ joins the tuneful quire, Th' immortal powers incline their ear; Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire. While solemn airs improve the sacred fire^ And angels lean from heaven to hear. Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell ; To bright Cecilia greater power is given: His numbers rais'd a shade from hell. Hers lift the soul to heaven. Alexander Pope. SUGGESTIONS OF MUSIC (From "Prometheus Unbound") My soul is an enchanted boat, Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing; The Music Lovers' Treasury 41 And thine doth like an angel sit Beside a helm conducting it, While all the winds with melody are ringing. It seems to float ever, forever, Upon that many-winding river, Between mountains, woods, abysses, A paradise of wildernesses! Till, like one in slumber bound. Borne to the ocean, I float down, around. Into a sea profound, of ever-spreading sound. Meanwhile, thy spirit lifts its pinions In Music's most serene dominions; Catching the winds that fan that happy heaven. And we sail on, away, afar. Without a course, without a star. But by the instinct of sweet music driven; Till through Elysian garden islets By thee, most beautiful of pilots. Where never mortal pinnace glided, The boat of my desire is guided : Realms where the air we breathe is love. Which in the winds and on the waves doth move. Harmonizing this earth with what we feel above. 42 The Music Lovers' Treasury We have passed Age's icy caves. And Manhood's dark and tossing waves, And Youth's smooth ocean, smiling to betray : Beyond the glassy gulfs we flee Of shadow-peopled Infancy, Through Death and Birth, to a diviner day : A paradise of vaulted bowers, Lit by downward-gazing flowers. And watery paths that wind between Wildernesses calm and green. Peopled by shapes too bright to see, And rest, having beheld ; somewhat like thee ; Which walk upon the sea, and chant melodi- ously. Percy Bysshe Shelley. INFLUENCE OF MUSIC ("King Henry VIII.") Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain-tops that freeze. Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music, plants and flowers. Ever sprung ; as sun, and showers There had made a lasting spring. The Music Lovers' Treasury 43 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 chim- ing 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. 44 The Music Lovers' Treasury 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 re- peat. John Keble. REMEMBERED MUSIC Thick-rushing, like an ocean vast Of bisons the far prairie shaking, The notes crowd heavily and fast As surfs, one plunging while the last Draws seaward from its foamy breaking. Or in low murmurs they began, Rising and rising momently, As o'er a harp JEolian 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. The Music Lovers' Treasury 45 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 Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the night, Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica : Look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb which thou be- hold'st But in his motion like an angel sings. Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins : Such harmony is in immortal souls ; But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Dost grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. — Enter Musicians. Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn ! With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear. 46 The Music Lovers' Treasury And draw her home with music. (Music.) Jessica. I am 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. •flu tbe 3fiel^ From Painting by L. Hodebert The Music Lovers' Treasury 47 And his affections dark as Erebus : Let no such man be trusted. — Mark the music ! William Shakespeare. CHORIC SONG (From "The Lotos-Eaters") There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass ; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies. Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes ; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep. And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep. And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. Alfred Tennyson. 48 The Music Lovers' Treasury MUSIC A Fragment I pant for the music which is divine, My heart in its thirst is a dying flower; Pour forth the sound like enchanted wine, Loosen the notes in a silver shower; Like a herbless plain for the gentle rain, I gasp, I faint, till they wake again. Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound. More, O more! I am thirsting yet. It loosens the serpent which care has bound Upon my heart, to stifle it; The dissolving strain, through every vein, Passes into my heart and brain. As the scent of a violet withered up. Which grew by the brink of a silver lake. When the hot noon has drained its dewy cup And mist there was none its thirst to slake, — And the violet lay dead while the odor flew On the wings of the wind o'er the waters blue, — The Music Lovers' Treasury 49 As one who drinks from a charmed cup Of foaming and sparkHng and murmuring wine, Whom, a mighty enchantress filling up, Invites to love with her kiss divine. Percy Bysshe Shelley. THE MONOCHORD (Written during Music) Is it the moved air or the moving sound That is Life's self and draws my life from me. And by instinct ineffable decree Holds my breath quailing on the bitter bound ? Nay, is it Life or Death, thus thunder-crown'd. That 'mid the tide of all emergency Now notes my separate wave, and to what sea Its difficult eddies labor in the ground? O ! what is this that knows the road I came. The flame turned cloud, the cloud returned to flame, 50 The Music Lovers' Treasury The lifted shifted steeps and all the way ? — That draws round me at last this wind-warm space, And in regenerate rapture turns my face Upon the devious coverts of dismay? Dante Gabriel Rossetti. ON MUSIC When thro' life unblest we rove. Losing all that made life dear. Should some notes we used to love, In days of boyhood, meet our ear. Oh ! how welcome breathes the strain ! Wakening thoughts that long have slept, Kindling former smiles again In faded eyes that long have wept. Like the gale that sighs along Beds of oriental flowers. Is the grateful breath of song. That once was heard in happier hours ; Fill'd with balm, the gale sighs on, Though the flowers have sunk in death ; So, when pleasure's dream is gone. Its memory lives in Music's breath. The Music Lovers' Treasury 51 Music, oh, how faint, how weak. Language fades before thy spell! Why should Feeling even speak. When thou canst breathe her soul so well? Friendship's balmy words may feign. Love's are ev'n more false than they ; Oh! 'tis only music's strain Can sweetly soothe, and not betray. Thomas Moore. PERSISTENT MUSIC Lo ! what am I, my heart, that I should dare To love her who will never love again: I, standing out here in the wind and rain, With feet unsandalled, and uncovered hair. Singing sad words to a still sadder air. Who know not even if my song's refrain — "Of sorrow,, sorrow! loved, oh, loved in vain!" — May reach her where she sits and hath no care. But I will sing in every man's despite ; Yea, too, and love, and sing of love until My music mixes with her dreams at night ; That when Death says to me, "Lie down, be still!" 52 The Music Lovers' Treasury She, pausing for my voice, and listening long. May know its silence sadder than its song. Philip Bourke Marston. MUSIC When whispering strains with creeping wind Distil soft passions through the heart; And when at every touch we find Our pulses beat and bear a part; When threads can make A heart-string ache. Philosophy Can scarce deny Our souls are made of harmony. When unto heavenly joys we faine Whate'er the soul affecteth most. Which only thus we can explain By music of the heavenly host ; Whose lays we think Make stars to wink. Philosophy Can scarce deny Our souls consist of harmony. jforever From Painting by H. Schmah The Music Lovers' Treasury 53 O, lull me, lull me, charming air ! My senses rock with wonder sweet ; Like snow on wool thy fallings are; Soft like a spirit's are thy feet ! Grief who needs fear That hath an ear? Down let him lie, And slumbering die. And change his soul for harmony. William Strode, MUSIC Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak. I've read that things inanimate have moved. And, as with living souls, have been informed By magic numbers and persuasive sound. William Congreve. LOVE AND MUSIC I listened to the music broad and deep — I heard the tenor in an ecstasy Touch the sweet, distant goal; I heard the cry 54 The Music Lovers' Treasury Of prayer and passion, and I heard the sweep Of mighty wings, that in their waving keep The music that the spheres make endlessly; Then my cheek shivered, tears made blind mine eye. As flame to flame I felt the quick blood leap, And, through the tides and moonlit winds of sound To me love's passionate voice grew audible. Again I felt thy heart to my heart bound. Then silence on the viols and voices fell; But, like the still, small voice within a shell, I heard Love thrilling through the void pro- found. Philip Bourke Marston. MUSIC AND MEMORY Enchantress, touch no more that strain ! I know not what it may contain. But in my breast such mood it wakes My very spirit almost breaks. Thoughts come from out some hidden realm Whose dim memorials overwhelm, Still bring not back the things 1 lost, — Still bringing all the pain they cost. John Albee. The Music Lovers' Treasury S5 MUSIC What angel viol, effortless and sure, Speaks through the straining silence, whence, ah whence. That tremulous low joy, so keen, so pure, ^ That all existence narrows to one sense. Lapped round and round With rapture of sweet sound ? Oh, now it wins the giddy steep, and loud and loud Over the chasm and the cloud. Swells its triumphant tide Higher and higher, and undenied Insistent to the star ! — Then lowlier, softer, dreamful, droops and dies Over the closing eyes. Dies with my spirit away, afar Swayed on some ocean's breast Dies into rest. Sir Rennell Rodd. AFTER MUSIC I saw not they were strange, the ways I roam, Until the music called, and called me thence. 56 The Music Lovers' Treasury And tears stirred in my heart as tears may come To lonely children straying far from home, Who know not how they wandered so, nor whence. If I might follow far and far away Unto the country where these songs abide, I think my soul would wake and find it day. Would tell me who I am, and why I stray, — Would tell me who I was before I died. Josephine Preston Peabody. MUSIC (Read at the Annual Dinner of the Harvard Musical Association, Boston, January 28, 1874.) When " Music, Heavenly Maid,'' was very young. She did not sing as poets say she sung. Unlike the mermaids of the fairy-tales. She paid but slight attentions to her scales. Besides, poor thing! she had no instruments But such as rude barbaric art invents. There were no Steinways then, no Chicker- ings, No spinnets, harpsichords, or metal strings; The Music Lovers' Treasury 57 No hundred-handed orchestras, no schools To corset her in contrapuntal rules. Some rude half-octave of a shepherd's song, Some childish strumming all the summer long On sinews stretched across a tortoise-shell. Such as they say Apollo loved so well ; Some squeaking flageolet or scrannel pipe, Some lyre poetic of the banjo type, — Such were the means she summoned to her aid. Prized as divine ; on these she sang or played. Music was then an infant, while she saw Her sister arts full grown. Greece stood in awe Before the Phidian Jove. Apelles drew And Zeuxis painted. Marble temples " grew As grows the grass " ; and never saw the sun A statelier vision than the Parthenon. But she, the Muse who in these latter days Lifts us and floats us in the golden haze Of melodies and harmonies divine. And steeps our souls and senses in such wine As never Ganymede nor Hebe poured For gods, when quaffing at the Olympian board, — 58 The Music Lovers^ Treasury She, Heavenly Maid, must ply her music thin. And sit and thrum her tinkling mandolin, Chant her rude staves, and only prophesy Her far-oflF days of immortality. E'en so poor Cinderella, when she cowered Beside her hearth, and saw her sisters, dow- ered With grace and wealth, go to accomplish all Their haughty triimiphs at the Prince's ball. While she in russet gown sat mournfully Singing her " Once a king there chanced to be," Yet knows her prince will come ; her splendid days Are all foreshadowed in her dreaming gaze. Then, as the years and centuries rolled on. Like Santa Clauses they have come and gone. Bringing all means of utterance to the Muse. No penny-trumpets, such as children use. No barbarous Indian drums, no twanging lutes. No buzzing Jew's-harps, no Pandean flutes. Were stuffed into her stockings, though they hung On Time's great chimney, as when she was young; The Music Lover ^ Treasury 59 But every rare and costly instrument That skill can fabricate or art invent, — Pianos, organs, viols, horns, trombones. Hautboys, and clarionets with reedy tones, Boehm flutes and cornets, bugles, harps, bas- soons. Huge double-basses, kettle-drum half-moons, And every queer contrivance made for tunes. Through these the master-spirits round her throng. And Europe rings with instruments and song. Through these she breathes her wondrous sym- phonies. Enchanting airs, and choral litanies. Through these she speaks the word that never dies. The universal language of the skies. Around her gather those who held their art To be of life the dearest, noblest part. Bach, Handel, Haydn, and Mozart are there; Beethoven, chief of all. The southern air Is ringing with Rossini's birdlike notes ; About the north more earnest music floats. Where Weber, Schumann, Schubert, Mendels- sohn, And long processions of the lords of Tone 6o The Music Lovers' Treasury All come to attend her. Like a queen en- throned She sits and rules the realms she long has owned, And sways the willing sense, the aspiring soul. Where thousands bow before her sweet con- trol. Ah, greater than all words of mine can say. The heights, the depths, the glories, of that sway. No mortal tongue can bring authentic speech Of that enchanted world beyond its reach; No tongue but hers, when, lifted on the waves Of Tone and Harmony, beyond the graves Of all we lose, we drift entranced away Out of the discords of the common day ; And she, the immortal goddess, on her breast Lulls us to visions of a sweet unrest. Smiles at the tyrannies of time and space. And folds us in a mother's fond embrace. Till, sailing on upon that mystic sea. We feel that Life is Immortality. Christopher P. Crunch. The Music Lovers' Treasury 6i MUSIC Take of the maiden's, of the mother's sigh, Of childhood's dream, the hope and peace that bless Old age; take of the lover's kiss, caress, Of light it kindles in the loved one's eye ; Of June's long shadows. Autumn's evening sky. Of roses, of the south wind's tenderness. Of stars that burn through pine-tops, sprays that tress The willow-banks where brooks run stillest by; Take of the blissful lisping of young Spring, Take of the last faint, pleading grief of Fall, Of joy and woe that sleep and waking bring, — The costliest offerings of the great, the small ; Now, pour into the empty soul each thing, And let the Finger touch that moveth all. John Vance Cheney. SISTERS OF MUSIC " Who sings ? " said the Spirit of Music, And smiled on her peers : 62 The Music Lovers' Treasury " Sweet Sorrow, sing Thou ! " Sorrow an- swered, " I cannot — for tears." " Bright Hope, give a tongue to the poems I read in thine eyes." Hope answered, " My thoughts are all clouded. And lost in the skies." " Then Joy, put thy mouth to the bugle ! A note, for my sake." Calm creature, she sleeps in the sunshine. And will not awake. But hush! a soft sound stealeth onwards, Like the flight of a dove ; Ah, I find that the Song that is sweetest Comes ever from Love. Bryan W. Procter ("Barry Cornwall"). MUSICA TRIONFANTE In the storm, in the smoke, in the fight, I come To bring thee strength with my bugle and drum. My name is Music, — and when the bell Rings for the dead man, I rule the knell ; Sacret) /ftusic From painting by G. Dubufe The Music Lovers' Treasury 63 * And when the wrecked mariner hears in the blast The fog-bell sound, — it was I who passed. The poets have told you how I, a young maid, Came fresh from the gods to the myrtle shade, And thence by a power divine I stole To where the waters of Mincius roll; Then down by Clitumnus and Arno's vale I wandered, passionate and pale. Until I found me at sacred Rome, Where one of the Medici gave me a home. Leo, great Leo, he worshipped me. And the Vatican stairs for my foot were free ; And now I am come to your glorious land, Give me great welcome with heart and hand. Remember Beethoven — I gave him his art — And Sebastian Bach and superb Mozart : Join them in my worship ; and when the swell Of their mighty organs hath laid a spell On every sense, and thy cares are drowned. Hear the voices of heaven through the men heaven hath crowned. Thomas W. Parsons. 64 The Music Lovers' Treasury OF MUSIC The miner delves in caverns of the earth Away from God's dear light, from every- thing That breedeth joy and hope and wholesome mirth. Ah, heaven, how fair the change, how good to spring Into the open, after dark and dearth ! The sailor gasps upon a sullen sea. Shipwrecked, half-mad for water, dying there ; Yet all the brine is but a mockery, And devils leer along the burning air. Then, rain! how all-divine that drink must be! One, a world wanderer, drifts from strand to strand For heedless years, — but then is fain to roam No more ; he longs to clasp some kinsman's hand, The Music Lovers' Treasury 65 To sleep in sacred chambers of his home. How blest the day he hails the loved, lost land! But neither light, nor drink, nor home ways stir Such rare delight, such infinite keen bliss In them, as comes to me, a worshipper Of music, when I hear it yearn and kiss: Life thrills, grows luminous-large, smells sweet with balm and myrrh. Richard Burton. VIVA LA MUSICA Our house, that long in darkness dwelt. And long in silence, day by day. Before the mountain snows could melt, While yet the world was bleak and gray. Received an impulse from the play Of sudden fingers on the strings, That made the new-born meadows gay With magic touch, as 'twere the Spring's. The melancholy frog no more Shall pipe his burden, twanging shrill ; 66 The Music Lovers' Treasury The oriole gives his matins o'er. No song-bird now hath any skill; Even that reproachful whippoorwill That stirred such memories in my heart Is hushed, — yet comes, a listener still. Nightly, to hear Cordelia's art. O virgins of the silver lute ! O goddess of the golden chord ! And thou great master of the flute. Pan, of the reeds acknowledged lord ! Troop hither, and your best reward For your old music, in the days When young Apollo was your king. Shall be to peep from yonder bays. And hear your latest scholar sing. Thomas W. Parsons. ON MUSIC Many love music but for music's sake ; Many because her touches can awake Thoughts that repose within the breast half dead. And rise to follow where she loves to lead. The Music Lovers' Treasury 67 What various feelings come from days gone by! What tears from far-off sources dim the eye ! Few, when light fingers with sweet voices play. And melodies swell, paiise and melt away. Mind how at every touch, at every tone, A spark of life hath glisten'd and hath gone. Walter Savage Landor. DISSONANCES Oft in the midst of music rare Comes a break in the fluent air ; Seeming dissonances creep Into the chords once tender, deep. But, as the deft musician plays On to the end, the music strays Back to harmonies that are meet, Making the whole a thing more sweet. So, from the strings of the harp of life Notes may be struck with discord rife; 68 The Music Lovers' Treasury But when the air is played, you see They were a part of the melody. Richard Burton. ON MUSIC I cannot tell how high my soul takes wing, Nor to what depths in liquid sweets it sinks — Yet well I know it suffers from thy sting. As one who of Cyceon mixture drinks. And I can feel a rose-stream thro' me creep, Curving about my senses, as they leap. And swell and rise and fall. As blossoms ambrosial Shook from some full-blown orange-tree in spring, Sink wav'ring to the ground And bound Unto the zephyr's piping, in dizzy, dizzy ring ! William Stanley Braithwaite. SONNET CXXVIII. How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds profane flDusic From painting by G. Dubufe The Music Lovers' Treasury 69 With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Whilst miy poor lips, which should that harvest reap. At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand ! To be so tickled, they would change their state And situation with those dancing chips. O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait. Making dead wood more blest than living lips. Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. William Shakespeare. HEARING MUSIC When lovely sounds about my ears Like winds in Eden's tree-tops rise. And make me, though my spirit hears. For very luxury close my eyes. Let none but friends be round about Who love the soothing joy like me. That so the charm be felt throughout. And all be harmony. 70 The Music Lovers^ Treasury And when we reach the close divine. Then let the hand of her I love Come with its gentle palm on mine, As soft as snow or lighting dove ; And let, by stealth, that more than friend Look sweetness in my opening eyes. For only so such dreams should end. Or wake in Paradise. Leigh Hunt. MUSIC Interminable undulating weeds Cover sharp rocks along the sea's abyss ; Thus buoyant music waves about the breast And lifts it up from what lies dark below. Walter Savage Landor. MUSIC Move on, light hands, so strongly, tenderly. Now with dropped calm and yearning un- dersong, Now swift and loud, tumultuously strong, And I in darkness, sitting near to thee. Shall only hear, and feel, but shall not see. The Music Lovers' Treasury 71 One hour made passionately bright with dreams, Keen glimpses of life's splendor, dashing gleams Of what we would, and what we cannot be. Surely not painful ever, yet not glad, Shall such hours be to me, but blindly sweet. Sharp with all yearning and all fact at strife, Dreams that shine by with unremember'd feet. And tones that like far distance make this life Spectral and wonderful and strangely sad. Archibald Lampman. INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC The charms of melody, in simple airs. By human voices sung, are always felt; With thoughts responsive careless hearers melt, Of secret ills, which our frail nature bears. We listen, weep, forget. But when the throng Of a great master's thoughts, above the reach Of words or colors, wire and wood can teach 72 The Music Lovers' Treasury By laws which to the spirit-world belong — When several parts, to tell one mood com- bined, Flash meaning on us we can ne'er express, Giving to matter subtlest powers of mind, Superior joys attentive souls confess : The harmony which suns and stars obey. Blesses our earth-bound state with visions of supernal day. Margaret Fuller Ossoli. MUSIC Soft as a flash of summer light, A thrill of music sweet Breathed somewhat in the ear of Night, And died along the street. Gray Night, it said, from amorous tongue. From minstrel, and from bird. Since first thy heaven with stars was hung What carols thou hast heard ! If only we could call the ghost Of each forgotten strain ! If all the silver-sounding host Made melody again ! The Music Lovers' Treasury 73 If every song whose magic made Yon stars more deeply burn. Then fled and withered Hke a shade. Could like a shade return! I who would bid the Lovely stay, I who would bind the Fair; Even as I plead I pass away, And go I know not where. Richard Garnett. THE HARP THE MONARCH MIN- STREL SWEPT The harp the monarch minstrel swept. The King of men, the loved of Heaven, Which Music hallow'd while she wept O'er tones her heart of hearts had given, Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven ! It soften'd men of iron mould, It gave them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold. That felt not, fired not to the tone. Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne. 74 The Music Lovers^ Treasury It told the triumphs of our King, It wafted glory to our God ; It made our gladden'd valleys ring. The cedars bow, the mountains nod; Its sound aspired to heaven, and there abode! Since then, though heard on earth no more. Devotion, and her daughter Love, Still bid the bursting spirit soar To sounds that seem as from above. In dreams that day's broad light cannot remove. Lord Byron. HASSAN'S MUSIC Land of Delight! you did not hold us long: Three moons we spent with Hassan, but those three. Like flies in amber, lie in memory — Three languid moons, three moons of dream and song. When Hassan played, the musky winds of night Trembled, and turned to music with delight! Lo ! it was melody's insanity : Ubc flsarp of Zava From painting by E. Hebert The Music Lovers' Treasury 75 Now 'twas a honey-throated nightingale. And now a sigh, a soul in agony, A troubled dead-march with melodious wail, A fall of tears — then it came daintily. Like the perfumed air that smote the sail Of Qeopatra's golden barge, when she Sailed down to Tarsus to Mark Antony. Thomas Bailey Aldrich. THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls. As if that soul were fled. — So sleeps the pride of former days. So glory's thrill is o'er. And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more. No more to chiefs and ladies bright The harp of Tara swells ; The chord alone, that breaks at night. Its tale of ruin tells. Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, The only throb she gives, '^6 The Music Lovers' Treasury Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that still she lives. Thomas Moore. WOINOMOINEN'S MUSIC (Finnish. Anonymous) Then the ancient Woinomoinen On the bench himself he seated ; Took the harp betwixt his fingers; On his knee about he turned it. In his hand he fitly placed it. Play'd the ancient Woinomoinen, Universal joy awaking. Like a concert was his playing : There was nothing in the forest. On four nimble feet that runneth. On four lengthy legs that stalketh. But repair'd to hear the music When the ancient Woinomoinen, When the Father joy awaken'd ; Even, at Woinomoinen's harping, 'Gainst the hedge the bear upbounded. There was nothing in the forest. On two whirling pinions flying. But with whirlwind speed did hasten ; The Music Lovers' Treasury 77 There was nothing in the ocean. With six fins about that roweth, Or with eight to move delighteth, But repair'd to hear the music; Even the briny water's mother 'Gainst the beach breast-forward cast her, On a little sand-hill raised her. On her side with tail upcrawling. Even from Woinomoinen's eyeballs Tears of heartfelt pleasure trickled. Bigger than the whortleberry, , Heavier than the eggs of plovers, Down his broad and mighty bosom, Kneeward from his bosom flowing, From his knee his feet bedewing ; And I've heard, his tears they trickled Through the five wool-wefts of thickness, Through his jackets eight of wadmal. Translated by George Borrow. POWER OF MUSIC An Orpheus ! an Orpheus ! yes. Faith may grow bold, And take to herself all the wonders of old ; — ■ 78 The Music Lovers' Treasury Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the same In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name. His station is there; and he works on the crowd. He sways them with harmony merry and loud ; He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim — Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him ? What an eager assembly! what an empire is this! The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss : The mourner is cheered, and the anxious have rest; And the guilt-burthened soul is no longer op- prest. As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the night. So He, where he stands, is a centre of light; It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-browed Jack, And the pale-visaged Baker's, with basket on back. Sappbo anb Hlcaeus From painting by H. BUrck The Music Lovers^ Treasury 79 That errand-bound 'Prentice was passing in haste — What matter 1 he's caught — and his time runs to waste; The Newsman is stopped, though he stops on the fret; And the half-breathless Lamplighter — he's in the net! The Porter sits down on the weight which he bore; The Lass with her barrow wheels hither her store ; — If a thief could be here he might pilfer at ease ; She sees the Musician, 'tis all that she sees ! He stands backed by the wall; — he abates not his din, His hat gives him vigor, with boons dropping in. From the old and the young, from the poor- est; and there! The one-pennied Boy has his penny to spare. O blest are the hearers, and proud be the hand Of the pleasure it spreads through so thank- ful a band; 8o The Music Lovers' Treasury I am glad for him, blind as he is ! — all the while If they speak 'tis to praise, and they praise with a smile. That tall Man, a giant in bulk and in height, Not an inch of his body is free from delight ; Can he keep himself still, if he would? oh, not he ! The music stirs in him like wind through a tree. Mark that Cripple who leans on his crutch ; like a tower That long has leaned forward, leans hour after hour ! — That Mother, whose spirit in fetters is bound, While she dandles the babe in her arms to the sound. Now, coaches and chariots! roar on like a stream ; Here are twenty souls happy as souls in a dream: They are deaf to your murmurs — they care not for you. Nor what ye are flying, nor what ye pursue ! William Wordsworth. The Music Lovers' Treasury 8i MUSIC IN AN AVENUE I knew the Minstrel not, and yet I knew He played on pipes of Pan as he went by, And that a passion boundless as the sky Ran like a golden flame, his measures through. I thought, this Minstrel will the gods pursue Till they await his coming, nor deny That their melodious ways together lie. The while he dreams some deathless note to woo ! On, past -me, like a nightingale he swept. While the June air a-throb with music swayed. On, through the avenue where the stone hounds slept; And as the western glory on them strayed, I think they roused, but a fierce silence kept. Quelled by the magic of the strains he played. II They who play pipes of Pan are never spent. And I shall hear from some resplendent height That he will reach in his imperial flight. Rapture on rapture by the Minstrel sent; 82 The Music Lovers' Treasury Elect to race with gods, behold he went FI)dng upon his way toward Love and Light, That are their fairest goals, and tuned to sight Came face to face with the Omnipotent. Flute on, O Minstrel in thy wondrous June ! And all the lilies, listening thee, will blow. And 'cross more silver seas will sail the moon. Till with song-bladed wings thy soul shall go And out of some near Eden snatch a tune, That all the coming centuries shall know. Cara E. Whiton-Stone. ON HEARING AN ^OLIAN HARP Sure 'tis the voice of choired saints that flows Along the billows of the softened breeze . . . And now, in falls and dying symphonies. So sweet it glides, that forth my rapt soul goes To join those hymnings, ta'en from all her woes. Yet once more, and once more, ye minstrel- sies Of power, my stormy spirit to appease, With some dissolving dream my thoughts compose. . . . ^be Breamers From Painting by Alex. Goh The Music Lovers' Treasury 83 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. Two hundred years are mist that rolls away ; The thirteenth Louis reigns, and I behold A green land golden in the dying day. An old red castle, strong with stony towers. The windows gay with many-colored glass, 84 The Music Lovers' Treasury Wide plains, and rivers flowing among flowers, That bathe the castle basement as they pass. In antique weed, with dark eyes and gold hair, A lady looks forth from her window high; It may be that I knew and found her fair, In some forgotten life, long time gone by. Andrew Lang. MUSIC OF HUNGARY 1 (A Anton Dvorak) My body answers you, my blood Leaps at your maddening, piercing call. The fierce notes startle, and the veil Of this dull present seems to fall. My soul responds to that long cry; It wants its country, Hungary! Not mine by birth. Yet have I not Some strain of that old Magyar race? Else why the secret stir of sense At sight of swarthy Tzigane face, ' From " Songs About Life, Love, and Death," copy- right, 1892, by Charles Scribner's Sons. The Music Lovers' Treasury '85 That warns me : " Lo, thy kinsmen nigh." All's dear that tastes of Hungary. Once more, O let me hear once more The passion and barbaric rage! Let me forget my exile here In this mild land, in this mild age; Once more that unrestrained wild cry That takes me to my Hungary! They listen with approving smile. But I, O God, I want my home! I want the Tzigane tongue, the dance, The nights in tents, the days to roam. O music, O fierce life and free, God made my soul for Hungary! Anne Reeve Aldrich. THE LOVER OF MUSIC TO HIS PIANOFORTE friend, whom glad or grave we seek, Heav'n-holding shrine! 1 ope thee, touch thee, hear thee speak, And peace is mine. No fairy casket full of bliss, Out-values thee: 86 The Music Lovers' Treasury Love only, waken'd with a kiss. More sweet may be. To thee, when our full hearts o'erflow In griefs or joys. Unspeakable emotions owe A fitting voice: Mirth flies to thee, and Love's unrest. And Memory dear. And Sorrow, with his tighten'd breast. Comes for a tear. Oh since few joys of human mould Thus wait us still. Thrice bless'd be thine, thou gentle fold Of peace at will. No change, no sullenness, no cheat, In thee we find ; Thy saddest voice is ever sweet, — Thine answer, kind. Leigh Hunt. WHERE DID YOU LEARN THAT MUSIC? Where did you learn that music? For it drew My dreaming back down autumn paths of years. The Music Lovers' Treasury 87 Touched chords long silent and forgotten tears, Recalled dim valleys where dead violets grew, Soothed me with twilight, as it were it knew The very secret of my heart and sighed For sympathy, and when at last it died It seemed as if my soul were singing too. Sir Rennell Rodd. TO A PIANISTE I saw thee once, I see thee now; Thy pure young face, thy noble mien, Thy truthful eyes, thy radiant brow; All childlike, lovely, and serene; Rapt in harmonious visions proud, Scarce conscious of the audient crowd. I heard thee when the instrument, Possessed and quickened by thy soul, Impassioned and intelligent. Responded to thy fuH control With all the treasures of its dower. Its sweetest and its grandest power. I saw and heard with such delight As rarely charms our lower sphere: 88 The Music Lovers' Treasury Blind Handel would not miss his sight, Thy beauty voiced thus in his ear; Beethoven in that face would see His glorious unheard harmony. James Thomson. TRUMPETS IN LOHENGRIN Hark! 'Tis the golden trumpets of the dawn Sounding the day ! Music, O Music fain! From rosy reaches drawn. And fall of silver rain. Along the call how swift the sunrise streams ! Sound, sound again, O magical refrain ! Peal on peal winding through the dewy air. Peal on peal answering far off and fair. Peal on peal bursting in victorious blare ! Sound, sound again. With your delicious pain, O wild sweet haunting strain. Till the sky swell with hint of heavenly gleams And the heart break with gladness loosed from dreams ! /»iflinon From painting by Paul Wagner The Music Lovers' Treasury 89 What buoyant spirit breathes the breath of morn And earth's delight, Trumpets, O trumpets blest ! Great voices, born Of consecrated gest. Across the ramparts ring and faint and fail ! O echoes, pressed On some ethereal quest. Touch all the joyance to a tearful dew, With melancholy gathering o'er the blue — Infinite hope, infinite sorrow, too ! And, heard, or guessed. Sweet, sweet, O sweet and best, Fall'n from some skyey crest, O horns of heaven, give your hero hail. Blown to him from the Kingdom of the Grail ! Harriet Prescott Spofford. THE PIANO Low brooding cadences that dream and cry, Life's stress and passion echoing straight and clear ; Wild flights of notes that clamor and beat high Into the storm and battle, or drop sheer; go The Music Lovers' Treasury Strange majesties of sound beyond all words Ringing on clouds and thunderous heights sublime ; Sad detonance of golden tones and chords That tremble with the secret of all time; O wrap me roxmd; for one exulting hour Possess my soul, and I indeed shall know The wealth of living, the desire, the power. The tragic sweep, the Apollonian glow; All life shall stream before me ; I shall see, With eyes unblanched. Time and Eternity. ■Archibald Lampman. TO MY LYRE^ Hast thou upon the idle branches hung, O Lyre, this livelong day, Nor as the sweet wind through the rose-leaves sung Uttered one dulcet lay? Come down, and by my rival touch be rung As tenderly as they! Did not Alcaeus with blood-streaming hand ' Range o'er his trembling wire, ' An imitation of Horace, Carm. i. 32. The Music Lovers' Treasury 91 Stealing forth sounds more eloquently bland Than softness could desire, As if with myrtle bough sweet Venus fanned His rapt Lesboan lyre ? And shall not I, that never will imbrue This hand except in wine — My battle-field a bed of violets blue, Where conquered nymphs recline — Shall not I wake the soul of sweetness too. Thou gentle Lyre of mine? George Darley. OLD SONGS There is many a simple song one hears, To an outworn tune, that starts the tears ; Not for itself — for the buried years. Perchance 'twas heard in the days of youth, When breath was buoyant and words were truth ; When joys were peddled at Life's gay booth. 92 The Music Lovers' Treasury Or maybe it sounded along a lane Where She walked with you — and now again You catch Love's cadence, Love's old sweet pain. Or else it stole through a room where lay A dear one dying, and seemed to say: " Love and death, they shall pass away." It rises out of the Long Ago, And that is the reason it shakes you so With pain and passion and buried woe. There is many a simple song that brings From deeps of living, on viewless wings, The tender tnagic of bygone things. Richard Burton. .A LOST CHORD Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease. And my fingers wandered idly Over the noisy keys. The Music Lovers' Treasury 93 I know not what I was playing, Or what I was dreaming then. But I struck one chord of music Like the sound of a great Amen. It flooded the crimson twilight. Like the close of an angel's psalm, And it lay on my fevered spirit With a touch of infinite calm. It quieted pain and sorrow, Like love overcoming strife; It seemed the harmonious echo Erom our discordant life. It linked all perplexed meanings Into one perfect peace, And trembled away into silence, As if it were loth to cease. I have sought, but I seek it vainly. That one lost chord divine. Which came from the soul of the organ And entered into mine. It may be that Death's bright angel Will speak in that chord again; 94 The Music Lovers' Treasury It may be that only in heaven I shall hear that grand Amen. Adelaide Anne Procter. MUSIC IN THE NIGHT When stars pursue their solemn flight, Oft in the middle of the night, A strain of music visits me. Hushed in a moment silverly, — Such rich and rapturous strains as make The very soul of silence ache With longing for the melody; Or lovers in the distant dusk Of summer gardens, sweet as musk. Pouring the blissful burden out. The breaking joy, the dying doubt; Or revellers, all flown with wine. And in a madness half divine. Beating the broken tune about; Or else the rude and rolling notes That leave some strolling sailors' throats. Hoarse with the salt sprays, it may be. Of many a mile of rushing sea ; Evening Song FroDi Paintini^- hv Jncques H'agrez The Music Lovers' Treasury 95 Or some high-minded dreamer strays Late through the solitary ways, Nor heeds the listening night, nor me. Or how or whence those tones be heard. Hearing, the slumbering soul is stirred, As when a swiftly passing light Startles the shadows into flight; While one remembrance suddenly Thrills through the melting melody, — A strain of music in the night. Out of the darkness bursts the song, Into the darkness moves along: Only a chord of memory jars, Only an old wound burns its scars. As the wild sweetness of the strain Smites the heart with passionate pain. And vanishes among the stars. Harriet Prescott Spoiford. THE SINGERS God sent his Singers upon earth With songs of sadness and of mirth, That they might touch the hearts of men, And bring them back to heaven again. 96 The Music Lovers' Treasury The first a youth, with soul of fire. Held in his hand a golden lyre; Through groves he wandered, and by streams, Playing the music of our dreams. The second with a bearded face, Stood singing in the market-place. And stirred with accents deep and loud The hearts of all the listening crowd. A gray old man, the third and last. Sang in cathedrals dim and vast. While the majestic organ rolled Contrition from its mouths of gold. And those who heard the Singers three Disputed which the best might be ; For still their music seemed to start Discordant echoes in each heart. But the great Master said, " I see No best in kind, but in degree ; I gave a various gift to each. To charm, to strengthen, and to teach. " These are the three great chords of might. And he whose ear is tuned aright The Music Lovers' Treasury 97 Will hear no discord in the three, But the most perfect harmony." Henry W. Longfellow. THE SOLITARY REAPER Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass ! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen ! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt. Among Arabian Sands: A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In springtime from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings ? — Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 98 The Music Lovers' Treasury For old, unhappy, far-off things. And battles long ago : Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again? Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang As if her song could have no ending ; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending; — I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill The music in my heart I bore. Long after it was heard no more. William Wordsworth. THY SONG Ask me not which of all my songs is thine ! Ask of the Spring, when first the blossoms stir. Which of their fairy pennons waves for her; Ask of the Night which star of all that shine Is her own signet, peerless and divine; Ask of the Sun which purple follower The Music Lovers' Treasury 99 Among the clouds is his sole worshipper, Lifting at dawn his colors and his sign. As stars are born of night, as flowers of spring, As clouds the vivid hues of sunlight wear, And all an equal rank and kinship know. So is thy memory the awakening, The living warmth, the radiance large and fair In which all songs of mine to utterance grow. Frances Laughton Mace. TO A FACE AT A CONCERT When the low music makes a dusk of sound About us, and the viol or far-off horn Swells out above it like a wind forlorn. That wanders seeking something never found. What phantom in your brain, on what dim ground. Traces its shadowy lines? What vision, born Of unfulfilment, fades in mere self-scorn, Or grows, from that still twilight stealing round ? loo The Music Lovers' Treasury When the lids droop and the hands lie un- strung, Dare one divine your dream, while the chords weave Their cloudy woof from key to key, and die, — Is it. one fate that, since the world was young. Has followed man, and makes him half believe The voice of instruments a human cry? Edward Rowland Sill. TO A LADY PLAYING ON THE CITHERN So dreamy-soft the notes, so far away They seem to fall, the horns of Oberoo Blow their faint Hunt's-up from the good time gone; Or, on a morning of long-withered May, Larks tinkle unseen o'er Qaudian arches gray. That Romeward crawl from Dreamland; and anon My fancy flings her cloak of Darkness on. To vanish from the dungeon of To-day. Song wttbout "OQlor&s From painting by Wm. Thome The Music Lovers' Treasury loi In happier times and scenes I seem to be, And, as her fingers flutter o'er the strings. The days return when I was young as she. And my fledged thoughts began to feel their wings With all Heaven's blue before them : Memory Or Music is it such enchantment sings? James Russell Lowell. WITH A GUITAR. — TO JANE The artist who this idol wrought To echo all harmonious thought. Felled a tree, while on the steep The woods were in their winter sleep, Rocked in that repose divine On the wind-swept Apennine ; And dreaming, some of Autumn past, And some of Spring approaching fast, And some of April buds and showers, And some of songs in July bowers. And all of Love; and so this tree — Oh, that such our death may be ! — Died in sleep and felt no pain. To live in happier form again: I02 The Music Lovers' Treasury From which, beneath Heaven's fairest star, The artist wrought this loved guitar, And taught it justly to reply. To all who question skilfully. In language gentle as thine own; Whispering in enamored tone Sweet oracles of woods and dells. And summer winds in sylvan cells; For it had learned all harmonies Of the plains and of the skies. Of the forests and the mountains, And the many-voiced fountains; The clearest echoes of the hills, The softest notes of falling rills. The melodies of birds and bees. The murmuring of summer seas. And pattering rain, and breathing dew. And airs of evening; and it knew That seldom-heard mysterious sound, Which, driven on its diurnal round, As it floats through boundless day. Our world enkindles on its way. All this it knows, but will not tell To those who cannot question well The spirit that inhabits it ; It talks according to the wit The Music Lovers' Treasury 103 Of its companions ; and no more Is heard than has been felt before By those who tempt it to betray These secrets of an elder day. But, sweetly as its answers will Flatter hands of perfect skill, It keeps its highest, holiest tone For our beloved Jane alone. Percy Bysshe Shelley. TO LEONORA SINGING AT ROME (Translated by William Cowper) Another Leonora once inspired Tasso, with fatal love to frenzy fired; But how much happier, lived he now, were he, Pierced with whatever pangs for love of thee ! Since could he hear that heavenly voice of thine. With Adriana's lute of sound divine. Fiercer than Pentheus' though his eye might roll, Or idiot apathy benumb his soul. You still with medicinal sounds might cheer His sens'es wandering in a blind career; I04 The Music Lovers' Treasury And, sweetly breathing through his wounded breast, Charm, with soul-soothing song, his thoughts to rest. From the Latin of John Milton. THE VIOLINIST But that one air for all that throng ! And yet How variously the magic strain swept through Those thousand hearts! I saw young eyes that knew Only earth's fairest sights, grow dim and wet ; While eyes long fed on visions of regret. Beheld the rose of hope spring up from rue. For some the night-wind in thy music blew ; For some, the spring's celestial clarinet! And each heart knew its own : the poet heard. Ravished, the song his lips could never free ; The girl, her lover's swift impassioned word; The mother thought, " Oh little, buried face ! " And one, through veil of doubt and agony. Saw Christ, alone in the dim garden-place ! Margaret Steele Anderson. The Music Lovers' Treasury 105 THE ORGANIST Slowly I circle the dim, dizzy stair, Wrapt in my cloak's gray fold. Holding my heart lest it throb to the air Its radiant secret, for though I be old. Though I totter and rock like a ship in the wind. And the sunbeams come unto me broken and blind, Yet my spirit drinks youth from the treasure we hold. Richer than gold. Princes below me, lips wet from the wine. Hush at my organ's swell; Ladies applaud me with clappings as fine As showers that splash in a musical well. But their ears only hear mighty melodies ringing, And their souls never know 'tis my angel there singing. That the grand organ-angel awakes in his cell Under my spell. io6 The Music Lovers' Treasury There in the midst of the wandering pipes. Far from the gleaming keys, And the organ front with its gilded stripes, My glorious angel lies sleeping at ease. And the hand of a stranger may beat at his gate. And the ear of a stranger may listen and wait, But he only cries in his pain for these. Witless to please. Angel, my angel, the old man's hand Knoweth thy silver way. I loose thy lips from their silence band And over thy heart-strings my fingers play. While the song peals forth from thy mellow throat. And my spirit climbs on the climbing note. Till I mingle thy tone with the tones away Over the day. So I look up as I follow the tone. Up with my dim old eyes. And I wonder if organs have angels alone. Or if, as my fancy might almost surmise. Each man in his heart folds an angel with wings. An angel that slumbers, but wakens and sings H Spring Concert From painting by J. L. Hamon The Music Lovers' Treasury 107 When thrilled by the touch that is sym- pathy-wise. Bidding it rise. Katherine Lee Bates. TO LAURA, PLAYING (Translated by Lord Lytton) When o'er the chords thy fingers steal, A soulless statue now I feel. And now a soul set free! Thou rulest over life and death. Mighty as over souls the breath Of some great Sorcery. Then the vassal airs that woo thee. Hush their low breath hearkening to thee: In delight and in devotion. Pausing from her whirling motion, Nature in enchanted calm. Silently drinks the floating balm. Sorceress, her heart with thy tone Claiming — as thine eyes my own! O'er the transport — tumult-driven. Doth the music gliding swim; io8 The Music Lovers' Treasury From the strings, as from their heaven, Burst the new-born Seraphim. As when from Chaos' giant arms set free, 'Mid the creation-storm, exultingly Sprang sparkling forth the Orbs of Light — So streams the rich tones in melodious might. Soft-gliding now, as when o'er pebbles glanc- ing, The silver wave goes dancing, Now with majestic swell, and strong, As thunder peals in organ-tones along; And now with stormy gush. As down the rock, in foam, the whirling tor- rents rush; To a whisper now. Melts it amorously. Like the breeze through the bough Of the aspen-tree; Heavily now, and with a mournful breath. Like midnight's wind along those wastes of death. Where Awe the wail of ghosts lamenting hears. And slow Cocytus trails' the stream whose waves are tears. The Music Lovers' Treasury log Speak, maiden, speak ! — O, art thou one of those Spirits more lofty than our region knows? Should we in thine the mother-language seek, Souls in Elysium speak? From the German of Schiller. TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING Thus to be lost and thus to sink and die, Perchajtice were death indeed ! — Constan- tia, turn! In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie. Even though the sounds which were thy voice, which burn Between thy lips, are laid to sleep; Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odor it is yet. And from thy touch like fire doth leap. Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet, Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not forget ! A breathless awe, like the swift change Unseen but felt in youthful slumbers. no The Music Lovers' Treasury Wild, sweet, but imcommunicably strange. Thou breathest now in fast ascending num- bers. The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven By the enchantment of thy strain. And on my shoulders wings are woven. To follow its sublime career. Beyond the mighty moons that wane Upon the verge of nature's utmost sphere, Till the world's shadowy walls are past and disappear. Her voice is hovering o'er my soul — it lin- gers O'ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings. The blood and life within those snowy fin- gers Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings. My brain is wild, my breath comes quick — The blood is listening in my frame. And thronging shadows, fast and thick. Fall on my overflowing eyes ; My heart is quivering like a flame ; As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies, I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies. The Music Lovers' Treasury 1 1 1 I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee, Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song Flows on, and fills all things with melody. — Now is thy voice a tempest swift and strong, On which, like one in trance upborne. Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep. Rejoicing like a cloud of morn. Now 'tis the breath of summer night. Which, when the starry waters sleep. Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright. Lingering, suspends my soul in its volup- tuous flight. Percy Bysshe Shelley. THE SINGER Before that crowd she stood, a flowerlike thing — That curious crowd that came to see her sing (See more than hear, her beauty's fame was such) , Unconscious as a child, save for a touch Of happy fear like some wild bird was she, Instinct with light, and fire, and purity; 112 The Music Lover ^ Treasury But when she sang, there fell so deep a hush, The listening ear might almost hear a blush! Methinks the very footlights must have felt The wonder and the fragrance where they knelt. Across the years once more I see her stand. The sheet of music trembling in her hand. Suitors she had in plenty; men who flung Their hearts with their bouquets when she had sung; She laugh'd in girlish ignorance, nor guess'd The flattery in the voices that caress'd. But, lest his blossom suffer blight withal, Came jealously the Lover of us all. And wooed her spirit with his subtlest breath — What lad hath kiss'd so many lips as Death! Through blinding tears once more I see her lie Like a pale lily, garnered for the sky ! Mayhap one voice was missing in the choir That sings forever round God's feet of fire; Mayhap the Seraphim, leaning low, had caught Her little human echo of God's thought. xrrtflina From painting by R. Poetzelberger The Music Lover/ Treasury 113 And wished her thither, till she, answering, rose. Loth to leave these her friends, yet fain for those. More distant but more dear, whose lips were placed Warm on the Bridegroom's, passionately chaste. I know not ; this I know : mine ear shall keep Those great soprano sounds until I sleep; And this I know: her brow, her hair, her eye, Shall be to me a glory till I die ! Frederic Lawrence Knowles. TO JANE The keen stars were twinkling, And the fair moon was rising among them. Dear Jane. The guitar was tinkling. But the notes were not sweet till you sung them Again. As the moon's soft splendor O'er the faint cold starlight of heaven 1 14 The Music Lovers' Treasury Is thrown, So your voice most tender To the strings without soul had then given Its own. The stars will awaken, Though the moon sleep a full hour later To-night ; No leaf will be shaken Whilst the dews of your melody scatter * Delight. Though the sound overpowers, Sing again, with your dear voice revealing A tone Of some world far from ours. Where music and moonlight and feeling Are one. Percy Bysshe Shelley. THE MUSIC-HALL The curtain on the grouping dancers falls. The heaven of color has vanished from our eyes; Stirred in our seats we wait with vague sur- mise The Music Lovers' Treasury 115 What haply comes that pleases or that palls. Touched on the stand the thrice-struck baton calls. Once more I watch the unfolding curtain rise, I hear the exultant violins premise The well-known tune that thrills me and en- thralls. Then trembling in my joy I see you flash Before the footlights to the cymbals' clash, With laughing lips, swift feet, and brilliant glance, You, fair as heaven and as a rainbow bright. You, queen of song and empress of the dance. Flower of mine eyes, my love, my heart's de- light! Theodore Wratislaw. A PRELUDE You shall play me, and you please, Little conjurer of keys. From the masters, music-blessed, Playing what I love the best. Something sweet of Schumann's make, Something sad for Chopin's sake; Ii6 The Music Lovers' Treasury Then a waltz with gayer graces Born of Liszt and pleasant places. Next, to sway my dreaming soul, Play a Schubert barcarole ; And, to wake me from the trance. Just a tricksy Spanish dance. Now a fugue of Bach's, a song Weaving thoughts of right and wrong ; And a thing of airy tone That belongs to Mendelssohn. A sonata-strain whose grief Gave Beethoven's heart relief; Last a melody divine From the soul of Rubinstein. Playing thus, the warp of life. Dark of hue and sorrow-rife, Shall be gladdened fold on fold With a woof of sunny gold, Woven from your melodies. Little conjurer of keys. Richard Burton. The Music Lovers' Treasury 117 THE KEYBOARD Five and thirty black slaves, Half a hundred white, All their duty but to sing For their Queen's delight. Now with throats of thunder. Now with dulcet lips. While she rules them royally With her finger-tips! When she quits her palace All the slaves are dumb — Dumb with dolor till the Queen Back to Court is come: Dumb the throats of thunder, Dumb the dulcet lips, Lacking all the sovereignty Of her finger-tips! Dusky slaves and pallid. Ebon slaves and white, When the Queen was on her throne How you sang to-night! Ah, the throats of thunder! Ah, the dulcet lips ! Ii8 The Music Lovers' Treasury Ah, the gracious tyrannies Of her finger-tips ! Silent, silent, silent, All your voices now; Was it then her life alone Did your life endow? Waken, throats of thunder! Waken, dulcet lips ! Touched to immortality By her finger-tips. William Watson. "WITH PIPE AND FLUTE" (To E. G.) With pipe and flute the rustic Pan Of old made music sweet for man; And wonder hushed the warbling bird. And closer drew the calm-eyed herd, — The rolling river slowlier ran. Ah! would, — ah! would, a little span, Some air of Arcady could fan This age of ours, too seldom stirred With pipe and flute! /IDustC From painting by V. Hynais The Music Lovers' Treasury 1 19 But now for gold we plot and plan And from Beersheba unto Dan, Apollo's self might pass unheard, Or find the night-jar's note preferred; — Not so it fared, when time began, With pipe and flute ! Austin Dobson. THE PIPER Piping down the valleys wild. Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child. And he laughing said to me : — " Pipe a song about a lamb " : So I piped with merry cheer. " Piper, pipe that song again " : So I piped ; he wept to hear. " Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe, Sing thy songs of happy cheer " : So I sung the same again. While he wept with joy to hear. " Piper, sit thee down and write In a book that all may read — " I20 The Music Lovers' Treasury So he vanished from my sight; And I plucked a hollow reed, And I made a rural pen, And I stained the water clear. And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear. William Blake. A MUSIC LESSON Fingers on the holes, Johnny, Fairly in a raw: Lift this and then that, And blaw, blaw, blaw ! That's hoo to play, Johnny, On the pipes sae shrill: Never was the piper yet But needit a' his skill. And lang and sair he tried it, tae. Afore he wan the knack O' making bag and pipe gie His verra yearnin's back. The echo tae his heart-strings Frae sic a thing to come ; The Music Lovers^ Treasury I2i Oh, is it no a wonder — Like a voice frae out the dumb? Tak' tentie, noo, my Johnny lad, Ye maunna hurry thro', Tak' time and try it ower again — Sic a blast ye blew ! It's no alane by blawing Strang, But eke by blawing true. That ye can mak' the music To thrill folk thro' and thro'. The walk folk and the learnin', Tis' them that mak's the din; But for the finish'd pipers They count it as a sin: And maybe it's the verra same A' the warld thro', The learners are the verra ones That mak' the most ado! Ye ken the Southrons taunt us — I sayna they're unfair — Aboot oor squallin' music. And their taunts hae hurt me sair ; But if they'd heard a piper true At nicht come ower the hill. 122 The Music Lovers' Treasury Playiti' up a pibroch Upon the wind sae still: Risin' noo, and fallin' noo, And floatin' on the air. The sounds come saftly on ye A'maist ere ye're aware, And wind themsels aboot the heart. That hasna yet forgot The witchery o' love and joy Within some lanely spot: I'm sure they wadna taunt us sae. Nor say the bagpipe's wild, Nor speak o' screechin' noises Eneuch to deave a child : They would say the bagpipe only Is the voice of hill and glen; And would listen to it sorrowing. Within the haunts of men. Fingers on the holes, Johnny, Fairly in a raw : Lift this and then that. And blaw, blaw, blaw! That's hoo to play, Johnny, On the pipes sae shrill: The Music Lovers' Treasury 123 Never was the piper yet But needit a' his skill. Alexander H. Japp. ON HEARING A LITTLE MUSICAL BOX DiUttevoV suoni Faceano intorno I ' aria tintinnire D' armonia dolce, c di concenti buoni. — Ariosto. Hallo ! — what ? — where, what can it be That strikes up so deliciously ? I never in my life — what, no! That little tin-box playing so? It really seemed as if a sprite Had struck among us, swift ajnd light. And come from some minuter star To treat us with his pearl guitar. Hark! it scarcely ends the strain. But it gives it o'er again. Lovely thing ! — and runs along. Just as if it knew the song. Touching out, smooth, clear and small, Harmony, and shake, and all, Now upon the treble lingering. Dancing now as if 'twere fingering. 124 T^^ Music Lovers' Treasury And at last upon the close Coming with serene repose. O full of sweetness, crispness, ease, Compound of lovely smallnesses. Accomplished trifle, — tell us what To call thee, and disgrace thee not. Worlds of fancies come about us. Thrill within and glance without us. Now we think that there must be In thee some humanity, Such a taste composed and fine Smiles along that touch of thine. Now we call thee heavenly rain. For thy fresh, continued strain; Now a hail, that on the ground Splits into light leaps of sound ; Now the concert, neat and nice, Of a pigmy paradise; Sprinkles then from singing fountains ; Fairies heard on tops of mountains ; Nightingales endued with art. Caught in listening to Mozart: Stars that make a distant tinkling, While their happy eyes are twinkling; Hn 1Improvise6 ©rcbestra Frovi Faulting by Th. Deyrolle The Music Lovers' Treasury 125 Sounds for scattered rills to flow to ; Music for the flowers to blow to. Leigh Hunt. SONGS WITHOUT WORDS I cannot sing the old songs, Though well I know the tune, F)ajniliar as a cradle-song With sleep-compelling croon; Yet though I'm filled with music As choirs of summer birds, ' I cannot sing the old songs " — I do not know the words. I start on " Hail Columbia," And get to "heav'n-born band," And there I strike an upward grade With neither steam nor sand ; Star Spangled Banner " downs me Right in my wildest screaming, I start all right, but dumbly come To voiceless wreck at " streaming.' So, when I sing the old songs, Don't murmur or complain 126 The Music Lovers' Treasury If " Ti, diddy ah da, turn dum," Should fill the sweetest strain. I love " Tolly um dum di do," And the " trilla-la yeep da " birds, But " I cannot sing the old songs," — I do not know the words. Robert J. Burdette. THE OVERTURE (From " Ormuzd and Ahriman ") Had I, instead of unsonorous words. The skill that moves in rapturous melodies. And modulations of entrancing chords Through mystic mazes of all harmonies — The bounding pulses of an overture Whose grand orchestral movement might allure The listener's soul through chaos and through night. And seeming dissonance to concord and to light — I might allow some harsh Titanic strains To wrestle with Apollo and with Jove ; The Music Lovers' Treasury 127 And let the war-cries on barbaric plains Qash through the chords of wisdom and of love. For still the harmonies should sing and soar Above the discord and the battle's roar; E'en as the evolving art and course of time. Amid the wrecks in wild confusion hurled, Move with impartial rhythm and cosmic rhyme Along the eternal order of the world. Then would I bid my lyric band express In music the old earth's long toil and stress : How the dumb iron centuries have foretold The coming of the future ageapf gold: How, ere the morning stars together sang. Divine completeness out of chaos sprang Through shapeless germs of lower forms that climb By slow vast aeons of a dateless time: Till, through the impulse of the primal plan, They reach their flowering in the soul of man. Christopher P. Cranch. 128 The Music Lovers' Treasury THE ORCHESTRA (From " The Festival of Peace ") Now shall the organ be roused to its utmost passion of power; All the winds of the sky shall grant it their opulent dower! Other instruments, too, shall join in the sym- phony's maze: — Flutes with melodious warble learned amid bird-haunted ways; Sylvan clarinets, the hautboy beloved of the swain ; Passionate violins with hearts keyed to joy and to pain ; Soulful violas with voices for pathos and yearning desire ; "Cellos with generous thoughts as of noble young men that aspire; Horns whose mellow, deep call sets the hunts- man's blood all afire; Trumpets that ring for strife and animate languishing hearts; Drums and cymbals and harps — all fill their eloquent parts. Nathan Haskell Dole. The Music Lovers' Treasury 129 FROM " SONG OF MYSELF " I hear the violoncello, ('tis the young man's heart's complaint,) I hear the key'd cornet, it ghdes quickly in through my ears, It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast. I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera. Ah, this indeed is music — this suits me. A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me. The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full. I hear the train'd soprano (what work with hers is this?) The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies. It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them. It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lick'd by the indolent waves, I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my ' breath, 130 The Music Lovers' Treasury Steep'd amid honey'd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death. At length let up again to feel the pxizzle of puzzles. And that we call Being. Wait Whitman. THE PIPE -PLAYER Cool, and palm-shaded from the torrid heat. The young brown tenor puts his singing by. And sets the twin pipe to his lips to try Some air of bulrush-glooms where lovers meet; O swart musician, time and fame are fleet. Brief all delight, and youth's feet fain to fly! Pipe on in peace! To-morrow must we die? What matter, if our life to-day be sweet ! Soon, soon, the silver paper-reeds that sigh Along the Sacred River will repeat The echo of the dark-stoled bearers' feet. Who carry you, with wailing, where must lie Your swathed and withered body, by and by. In perfumed darkness with the grains of wheat. Edmund Gosse. Song From painting by C. Kiesel The Music Lovers' Treasury 131 BUGLE SONG The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story; The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark! O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying : Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O love, they die in yon rich sky. They faint on hill or field or river Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. Alfred Tennyson. 132 The Music Lovers' Treasury MY OLD GUITAR By some eastern river thy rosewood grew, Thy inlaid pearl in the restless sea; What craftsman moulded thy bosom fair, Sounding with dreamy melody? What maiden's fingers have swept thy strings. In the distant vistas of long ago? What love-lorn gallant has sung his lay To thy tuneful cadence sweet and low? What odors of romance round thee cling, As each chord swells in thy bosom deep? Whispering long-forgotten loves. Thrilling the soul to rest and sleep. Oh, Muse, who dwells in the hollow shrine Of my old guitar with its tales of yore. Grant me the power to wake thy strains In music sweeter than e'er before. F. G. Hinsdale. The Music Lovers' Treasury 133 THE BUGLE O! wild, enchanting horn! Whose music up the deep and dewy air Swells to the clouds, and calls on Echo there, 'Till a new melody is born! Wake, wake again; the night Is bending from her throne of beauty down. With still stars beaming on her azure crown, Intense, and eloquently bright. Night, at its pulseless noon! When the far voice of waters mourns in song, And some tired watch-dog lazily and long Barks at the melancholy moon. Hark! how it sweeps away. Soaring and dying on the silent sky. As if some sprite of sound went wandering by, With lone halloo and roundelay! Swell, swell in glory out! Thy tones come pouring on my leaping heart, And my stirr'd spirit hears thee with a start As boyhood's old remember'd shout. 134 The Music Lovers' Treasury O! have ye heard that peal, From sleeping city's moon-bathed battlements, Or from the guarded field and warrior tents. Like some near breath around you steal? Or have ye, in the roar Of sea, or storm, or battle, heard it rise. Shriller than eagle's clamor, to the skies, Where wings and tempests never soar? Go, go — no other sound. No music that of air or earth is born. Can match the mighty music of that horn. On midnight's fathomless profound! Grenville Mellen. THE FLUTE Puifed up with luring to her knees The rabbits from the blackberries, Quaint little satyrs, and shy and mute, That limped reluctant to the flute. She needs must seek the forest's womb And pipe up tigers from green gloom. Grouped round the dreaming oaten quill Those sumptuous savages were still, The Music Lovers' Treasury 135 Rich spectral beasts that feared to stir, And haughty and wistful gazed on her, And swayed their sleepy masks in time And growled a drowsy under-rhyme. Tune done, that agile fancy stopped. The lingering notes in mid-air dropped; The flute stole from her parted kiss. Her cheeks for sorcery burned with bliss. Then grew a deadly muttering there; And sudden yellow eyes aglare Blazed furious over wrinkled lips And teeth on her. Her finger-tips Trembled a little as they woke The second tune beneath the oak, A lilt that charmed and lulled to mute The uneasy soul within the brute. And all that warbling ecstasy Was winged with terror, and daintily Ceased on the wild and tragic face And desperate huddle of her grace : For with the hush began to gride Their sullen, soulless, evil-eyed. Intolerable rage, blown hot Upon her. The third tune was caught With trouble from unuttered air: And still as autumn they sat there. 136 The Music Lovers' Treasury The breathless seventh tune died out Like withered laughter: all about The frantic silence ran a race: She stirred, she moaned, she crawled a space. There leaped a vast and thunderous roar : A huge heart-shaking tumult tore About the oak. Filing away. They trod the stained flute where it lay. Joseph Russell Taylor. ON A LUTE FOUND IN A SARCOPHAGUS What curled and scented sun-girls, almond- eyed. With lotos-blossoms in their hands and hair, Have made their swarthy lovers call them fair. With these spent strings, when brutes were deified, And Memnon in the sunrise sprang and cried. And love-winds smote Bubastis, and the bare Black breasts of carven Pasht received the prayer Of suppliants bearing gifts from far and wide ! This lute has out-sung Egypt; all the lives Of violent passion, and the vast calm art The Music Lovers' Treasury 137 That lasts in granite only, all lie dead; This little bird of song alone survives, As fresh as when its fluting smote the heart Last time the brown slave wore it garlanded. Edmund Gosse. THE MUSICAL DUEL (From " The Lover's Melancholy ") Menaphon. Passing from Italy to Greece, the tales Which poets of an elder time have feigned To glorify their Tempe, . bred in me Desire of visiting that paradise. To Thessaly I came ; and, living private. Without acquaintance of more sweet compan- ions Than the old inmates to my love, my thoughts, I day by day frequented silent groves And solitary walks. One morning early This accident encountered me: I heard The sweetest and most ravishing contention That art and nature ever were at strife in. Amethus. I cannot yet conceive what you infer By art and nature. 138 The Music Lovers' Treasury Men. I shall soon resolve you. A sound of music touched mine ears, or rather, Indeed, entranced my soul. As I stole nearer. Invited by the melancholy, I saw This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon his lute. With strains of strange variety and harmony, Proclaiming, as it seemed, so bold a challenge To the clear choristers of the woods, the birds. That, as they flocked about him, all stood silent. Wondering at what they heard. I wondered too. Am. And so do I; good! — On! Men. A nightingale. Nature's best-skilled musician, undertakes The challenge, and, for every several strain The well-shaped youth could touch, she sang her own; He could not run division with more art Upon his quaking instrument than she, The nightingale, did with her various notes Reply to; for a voice, and for a sound, Amethus, 'tis much easier to believe That such they were than hope to hear again. Am. How did the rivals part? Men. You term them rightly ; Dilettante (Quartette From Fainting by F. Hiddemann The Music Lovers' Treasury 139 For they were rivals, and their mistress. Har- mony. — Some time thus spent, the young man grew at last Into a pretty anger, that a bird Whom art had never taught clefs, moods, or notes. Should vie with him for mastery, whose study Had busied many hours to perfect practice : To end the controversy, in a rapture Upon his instrument he plays so swiftly. So many voluntaries, and so quick. That there was curiosity and cunning. Concord in discord, lines of differing method Meeting in one full centre of delight. Am. Now for the bird. Men. The bird, ordained to be Music's first martyr, strove to imitate These several sounds; which, when her war- bling throat Failed in, for grief, down dropped she on his lute. And broke her heart! It was the quaintest sadness To see the conqueror upon her hearse To weep a funeral elegy of tears ; That, trust me, my Amethus, I could chide I40 The Music Lovers' Treasury Mine own unmanly weakness, that made me A fellow-mourner with him. Am. I believe thee. Men. He looked upon the trophies of his art, Then sighed, then wiped his eyes, then sighed, and cried, " Alas, poor creature ! .1 will soon revenge This cruelty upon the author of it; Henceforth this lute, guilty of innocent blood. Shall nevermore betray a harmless peace To an untimely end ; " and in that sorrow. As he was pashing it against a tree, I suddenly stepped in. John Ford. TO HIS LUTE My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow With thy green mother in some shady grove. When immelodious winds but made thee move. And birds on thee their ramage did bestow. Since that dear Voice which did thy sounds approve, Which used in such harmonious strains to flow. The Music Lovers' Treasury 141 Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above, What art thou but a harbinger of woe? Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more, But orphan wailings to the fainting ear ; Each stop a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear; Be therefore silent as in woods before : Or if that any hand to touch thee deign. Like widow'd turtle, still her loss complain. William Drummond. HARP OF THE NORTH (From "The Lady of the Lake") Harp of the North ! that mouldering long hast hung On the witch-elm that shades St. Fillan's spring. And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, Till envious ivy did around thee cling, Muffling with verdant ringlet every string, — O Minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep ? 142 The Music Lovers' Treasury Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring, Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep. Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep? Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon, Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd, When lay of hopeless love, or glory won, Aroused the fearful or subdued the proud. At each according pause was heard aloud Thine ardent symphony sublime and high! Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bowed ; For still the burden of thy minstrelsy Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's matchless eye. O, wake once more! how rude soe'er the hand That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray ; O, wake once more! though scarce my skill command Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay : Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away, And all unworthy of thy nobler strain. Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway, The Music Lovers' Treasury 143 The wizard note has not been touched in vain. Then silent be no more! Enchantress, wake again! Sir Walter Scott. "HUSHED IS THE LYRE — THE HAND THAT SWEPT" (A Fragment) Hushed is the lyre — the hand that swept The low and pensive wires, Robb'd of its cunning, from the task retires. Yes — it is still — the lyre is still; The spirit which its slumbers broke Hath pass'd away, — and that weak hand that woke Its forest melodies hath lost its skill. Henry Kirke White. A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT What was he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river? 144 The Music Lovers' Treasury Spreading ruin and scattering ban, Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, And breaking the golden lilies afloat With the dragon-fly on the river? He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, From the deep cool bed of the river: The limpid water turbidly ran. And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away. Ere he brought it out of the river. High on the shore sat the great god Pan, While turbidly flowed the river. And hacked and hewed as a great god can With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed. Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed To prove it fresh from the river. He cut it short, did the great god Pan, (How tall it stood in the river!) Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, Steadily from the outside ring. And notched the poor dry empty thing In holes, as he sat by the river. The Music Lover^ Treasury 145 " This is the way," laughed the great god Pan, (Laughed while he sat by the river!) " The only way, since gods began To make sweet music, they could succeed," Then dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed. He blew in power by the river. Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan, Piercing sweet by the river! Blinding sweet, O great god Pan! The sun on the hill forgot to die. And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly Came back to dream on the river. Yet half a beast is the great god Pan To laugh, as he sits by the river. Making a poet out of a man. The true gods sigh for the cost and pain — For the reed which grows nevermore again As a reed with the reeds in the river. Elizabeth Barrett Browning. TO A FLUTE -PLAYER Down through the shadow-years has come a word Or two of Lamia, who, with her flute. 146 The Music Lovers' Treasury Lulled Care to sleep, bade Grief and Strife be mute. And calmed the heart by Pain and Passion stirred ; Men called her Dryad, Zephyr, Sylvan Bird, She led them by such pleasant, tranquil route, O'erhung with blossom-bough and trellised fruit. To haunts where naught but dreamland sounds are heard. To-day, you play — along that path of bliss. Dream-sandalled, I am wooed afar, afar To where your strains are echoed in a star That slowly sinks beyond a crimson crest — Play on — my soul knows nothing else but this: The calm, the perfect calm of raptured rest. Clarence Urmy. ON SIVORI'S VIOLIN A dryad's home was once the tree From which they carved this wondrous toy. The Music Lovers' Treasury 147 Who chanted lays of love and glee, Till every leaflet thrilled with joy. But when the tempest laid it low. The exiled fay flew to and fro ; Till finding here her home once more) She warbles wildly as before! Frances Sargent Osgood. THE VIOLIN'S COMPLAINT Honest Stradivari made me: With the gift of love he blest me ; Once, delight, a master played me. Love awoke when he caressed me ! Oh the deep, ecstatic burning! Oh the secrets low and tender! Oh the passion and the yearning At our love's complete surrender ! Heartless men, so long to hide me With the costly toys you cherish ; I'm a soul — again confide me To a lover, ere I perish ! William Roscoe Thayer. 148 The Music Lovers' Treasury ON BOLUS'S HARP Ethereal race, inhabitants of air. Who hymn your God amid the secret grove ; Ye unseen beings, to my harp repair. And raise majestic strains, or melt in love. Those tender notes, how kindly they upbraid. With what soft woe they thrill the lover's heart ! Sure from the hand of some unhappy maid. Who died of love, these sweet complainings part. But hark ! that strain was of a graver tone. On the deep strings his hand some hermit throws ; Or he, the sacred Bard,^ who sat alone In the drear waste, and wept his people's woes. Such was the song which Zion's children sung. When by Euphrates' stream they made their plaint ; ' Jeremiah. The Music Lovers' Treasury 149 And to such sadly solemn notes are strung Angelic harps, to soothe a dying saint. Methinks I hear the full celestial choir. Through heaven's high dome their awful anthem raise; Now chanting clear, and now they all con- spire To swell the lofty hymn, from praise to praise. Let me, ye wandering spirits of the wind. Who, as wild fancy prompts you, touch the string; Smit with your theme, be in your chorus join'd. For till you cease, my Muse forgets to sing. James Thomson. THE OLD VIOLIN Though tuneless, stringless, it lies there in dust. Like some great thought on a forgotten page; 150 The Music Lovers' Treasury The soul of music cannot fade or rust, — The voice within it stronger grows with age; Its strings and bow are only trifling things — A master-touch! — its sweet soul wakes and sings. Maurice Francis Egan. THE CELLO When late I heard the trembling cello play, In every face I read sad memories That from dark, secret chambers where they lay Rose, and looked forth from melancholy eyes. So every mournful thought found there a tone To match despondence; sorrow knew its mate; 111 fortune sighed, and mute despair made moan; And one deep chord gave answer, " Late, — too late." Then ceased the quivering strain, and swift returned Into its depths the secret of each heart; "1be'& onlg bts violin' From painting by W. Stryowski The Music Lovers' Treasury 151 Each face took on its mask, where lately burned A spirit charmed to sight by music's art ; But unto one who caught that inner flame No face of all can ever seem the same. Richa/rd Watson Gilder. HE'D NOTHING BUT HIS VIOLIN He'd nothing but his violin, I'd nothing but my song. But we were wed when skies were blue And summer days were long; And when we rested by the hedge. The robins came and told How they had dared to woo and win. When early Spring was cold. We sometimes supped on dewberries Or slept among the hay. But oft the farmers' wives at eve Came out to hear us play; The rare old songs, the dear old tunes, — We could not starve for long While my man had his violin. And I my sweet love-song. Mary Kyle Dallas. 1 52 The Music Lovers' Treasury THE ^OLIAN HARP take that airy harp from out the gale. Its troubles call from such a distant bourne, Now that the wind has wooed it to its tale Of bygone bliss, that never can return; Hark! with what dreamy sadness it is swell- ing! How sweet it falls, unwinding from the breeze ! Disordered music, deep and tear-compelling, Like siren-voices pealing o'er the seas. Nay, take it not, for now my tears are stealing. But when it brake upon my -mirthful hour, And spake to joy of sorrow past the healing, 1 shrank beneath the soft subduing power; Nay, take it not ; replace it by my bower — The soul can thrill with no diviner feeling. Charles Tennyson Turner. A CHOPIN PRELUDE A certain Chopin prelude once I heard. Strive as I may to tell, no mortal word Can all-express that music. Like a bird The Music Lovers' Treasury 153 My soul went up the blue — the sweetest pain, The deepest passion, love without a stain, A high and holy yearning that had lain Buried, did come in a white company. In tremulous procession, unto me. For an immortal moment I was free O' the flesh, and leaped in spirit and was strong With beauty, shaken by magic of that song. Richard Burton. THE VIOLIN Before the listening world behold him stand; The warm air trembles with his passionate play; Their cheers shower round him like the ocean spray Round one who waits upon the stormy strand. Their smiles, sighs, tears, all are at his com- mand; And now they hear the trump of judgment day. And now one silver note to heaven doth . stray And fluttering fall upon the golden sand. 154 ^'^^ Music Lovers' Treasury But like the murmur of the distant sea Their loud applause, and far-off, faint, and weak Sounds his own music to him, wild and free — Far from the soul of music that doth speak In wordless wail and lyric ecstasy From that good viol pressed against his cheek. Richard Watson Gilder. A VIOLINIST The lark above our heads doth know A heaven we see not heye below ; She sees it, and for joy she sings; Then falls with ineffectual wings. Ah ! soaring soul ! faint not nor tire ! Each heaven attained reveals a higher. Thy thought is of thy failure; we List raptured, and thank God for thee. Francis William Bourdillon. The Music Lovers' Treasury 155 SCHUMANN'S SONATA IN A MINOR (Mit Leidenschaftlichem Ausdruck) The quiet room, the flowers, the perfumed calm. The slender crystal vase, where all aflame The scarlet poppies stand erect and tall. Color that burns as if no frost could tame, The shaded lamplight glowing over all. The summer night a dream of warmth and balm. Out breaks at once the golden melody, " With passionate expression ! " Ah, from whence Comes the enchantment of this potent spell, This charm that takes us captive, soul and sense ? The sacred power of music, who shall tell. Who find the secret of its mastery? Lo, in the keen vibration of the air Pierced by the sweetness of the violin, Shaken by thrilling chords and searching notes 15^ The Music Lovers' Treasury That flood the ivory keys, the flowers begin To tremble; 'tis as if some spirit floats And breathes upon their beauty unaware. The stately poppies, proud in stillness, stand In silken splendor of superb attire: Stricken with arrows of melodious sound. Their loosened petals fall like flakes of fire; With waves of music overwhelmed and drowned, Solemnly drop their flames on either hand. So the rich moment dies, and what is left? Only a memory sweet, to shut between Some poem's silent leaves, to find again. Perhaps, when winter blasts are howling keen. And summer's loveliness is spoiled and slain. And all the world of light and bloom bereft. But winter cannot rob the music so! Nor time nor fate its subtle power destroy To bring again ihe summer's dear caress. To wake the heart to youth's unreasoning joy,— The Music Lovers' Treasury 157 Sound, color, perfume, love, to warm and bless. And airs of balm from Paradise that blow. Celia Thaxter. THE ^OLIAN HARP And that simplest lute Placed lengthways in the clasping casement, hark! How by the desultory breeze caressed. Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover, It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious surges sink and rise ; Such a soft floating witchery of sound As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-land, Where Melodies round honey-dropping flow- ers, Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise, Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untamed wing! O the one life within us and abroad. 158 The Music Lovers' Treasury Which meets all motion and becomes its soul, A light in sound, a sound-like power in light, Rhythm in all thought, and joyance every- where — Methinks, it should have been impossible Not to love all things in a world so filled ; Where the breeze warbles, and the mute still air Is Music slumbering on her instrument. Samuel Taylor Coleridge. SYMPHONIC STUDIES (After Robert Schumann) PRELUDE Blue storm-clouds in hot heavens of mid- July Hung heavy, brooding over land and sea : Our hearts, a-tremble, throbbed in harmony With the wild, restless tone of air and sky. Shall we not call him Prospero who held In his enchanted hands the fateful key Of that tempestuous hour's mystery. And with controlling wand our spirits spelled, With him to wander by a sun-bright shore. IReverie From fainting by L. Balestrieri '■'jl ' fill "* t ^^^ .; ' «».. •r ^^DB^Kj^^^^^) ' ' ^ - TiV' — '■^ ^^^^^HRut ■,' " ,'"■ -■' " ; ? < ■ ...... ™ „. ' ■ .-.■■---. if 0*^ f sM^Sk .r 1 gP ■ _^^^5'^_ ■'• /5it» ^ ' ii^* '^ ;/ae»v; ''--,,1 . -^ 7 ^■,* wi'M m \. '■ V-:-- ^^raafc.-. , I The Music Lovers' Treasury 159 To hear fine, fairy voices, and to fly With disembodied Ariel once more Above earth's wrack and ruin? Far and nigh The laughter of the thunder echoed loud, And harmless lightnings leapt from cloud to cloud. EPILOGUE Forth in the sunlit, rain-bathed air we stepped, Sweet with the dripping grass and flowering vine. And saw through irised clouds the pale sun shine. Back o'er the hills the rain-mist slowly crept Like a transparent curtain's silvery sheen; And fronting us the painted bow was arched, Whereunder the majestic cloud-shapes marched : In the wet, yellow light the dazzling green Of lawn and bush and tree seemed stained with blue. Our hearts o'erflowed with peace. With smiles we spake Of partings in the past, of courage new. i6o The Music Lovers' Treasury Of high achievement, of the dreams that make A wonder and a glory of our days. And all life's music but a hymn of praise. Emma Lazarus. THE VIOLIN The Heart's Own Voice, sweet viol, by thy name. Whose throbbing chords are tuned to every tone Of passion's scale to human bosom known. Dost thou discourse of love? The lover's frame Responsive trembles and reveals the flame. Is grief thy theme? What sympathy is shown On every face! Mayhap there bursts a moan. Thy gentle chiding wakens conscious blame. Spontaneous pleasure leads the nimble dance Where'er thy wizard wand a challenge flings, 'Neath stately roof or greenwood tree per- chance. The Music Lover/ Treasury i6i And when repentance wavers o'er the strings Their pleading prayers the contrite heart en- trance. And waft it heavenward as on angel wings. Warren Holden. STRADIVARIUS Your soul was lifted by the wings to-day Hearing the master of the violin: You praised him, praised the great Sebastian too Who made that fine Chaconne; but did you think Of old Antonio Stradivari? — him Who a good century and half ago Put his true work in that brown instrument And by the nice adjustment of its frame Gave it responsive life, continuous With the master's finger-tips and perfected Like them by delicate rectitude of use. Not Bach alone, helped by fine precedent Of genius gone before, nor Joachim Who holds the strain afresh incorporate By inward hearing and notation strict Of nerve and muscle, made our joy to-day: Another soul was living in the air 1 62 The Music Lovers' Treasury And swaying it to true deliverance Of high invention and responsive skill: That plain white-aproned man who stood at work Patient and accurate full fourscore years, Qierished his sight and touch by temperance, And since keen sense is love of perfectness Made perfect violins, the needed paths For inspiration and high mastery. Naldo, a painter of eclectic school, Taking his dicers, candle-light, and grins From Caravaggio, and in holier groups Combining Flemish flesh with martyrdom — Knowing all tricks of style at thirty-one. And weary of them, while Antonio At sixty-nine wrought placidly his best, Making the violin you heard to-day — Naldo would tease him oft to tell his aims. Then Naldo : " 'Tis a petty kind of fame At best, that comes of making violins ; And saves no masses, either. Thou wilt go To purgatory none the less." But he : " 'Twere purgatory here to make them ill ; The Music Leavers' Treasury 163 And for my fame — when any master holds 'Twixt chin and hand a violin of mine, He will be glad that Stradivari lived, Made violins and made them of the best. The masters only know whose work is good; They will choose mine, and while God gives them skill I give them instruments to play upon, God choosing me to help Him." "What! were God At fault for violins, thou absent ? " " Yes ; He were at fault for Stradivari's work." " Why, many hold Giuseppe's violins As good as thine." " Maybe : they are different. His quality declines: he spoils his hand With overdrinking. But were his the best, He could not work for two. My work is mine. And, heresy or not, if my hand slacked I should rob God — since He is fullest good — Leaving a blank instead of violins. I say, not God Himself can make man's best Without best men to help Him. I am one best Here in Cremona, using sunlight well 164 The Music Lovers^ Treasury To fashion finest maple till it serves More cunningly than throats, for harmony. 'Tis rare delight: I would not change my skill To be the Emperor with bungling hands, And lose my work, which comes as natural As self at waking." " Thou art little more Than a deft potter's wheel, Antonio; Turning out work by mere necessity And lack of varied function. Steady work Turns genius to a loom; the soul must lie Like grapes beneath the sun till ripeness comes And mellow vintage. I could paint you now The finest Crucifixion; yesternight Returning home I saw it on a sky Blue-black, thick-starred. I want two louis d'ors To buy the canvas and the costly blues — Trust me a fortnight." " Where are those last two I lent thee for thy Judith? — her thou saw'st In saffron gown, with Holoferues' head And beauty all complete ? " H Duet From Painting by N. Sichel The Music Lovers' Treasury 165 " She is but sketched : I lack the proper model — and the mood. A great idea is an eagle's egg, Craves time for hatching ; while the eagle sits, Feed her." " If thou wilt call thy pictures eggs I call the hatching, Work. 'Tis God gives skill, But not without men's hands: He could not make Antonio Stradivari's violins Without Antonio. Get thee to thy easel." George Eliot. ABT VOGLER (After he has been extemporizing upon the musical instrument of his invention) Would that the structure brave, the manifold music I build, Bidding my organ obey, calling its keys to their work. Claiming each slave of the sound, at a touch, as when Solomon willed Armies of angels that soar, legiofis of demons that lurk, 1 66 The Music Lovers' Treasury Man, brute, reptile, fly, — alien of end and of aim. Adverse, each from the other heaven-high, hell-deep removed, — Should rush into sight at once as he named the ineffable Name, And pile him a palace straight, to pleasure the princess he loved! Would it might tarry like his, the beautiful building of mine. This which my keys in a crowd pressed and importuned to raise ! Ah, one and all, how they helped, would dis- part now and now combine, Zealous to hasten the work, heighten their master his praise ! And one would bury his brow with a blind plunge down to hell. Burrow awhile and build, broad on the roots of things. Then up again swim into sight, having based me my palace well. Founded it, fearless of flame, flat on the nether springs. The Music Lovers' Treasury 167 All through my keys that gave their sounds to a wish of my soul, All through my soul that praised as its wish flowed visibly forth, All through Music and Me ! For think, had I painted the whole, Why, there it had stood, to see, nor the process so wonder-worth : Had I written the same, made verse — still, effect proceeds from cause. Ye know why the forms are fair, ye hear how the tale is told; It is all triumphant art, but art in obedience to laws. Painter and poet are proud in the artist-list enrolled : — But here is the finger of God, a flash of the will that can. Existent behind all laws, that made them and, lo, they are! And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man. That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star. Consider it well : each tone of our scale in itself is naught: 1 68 The Music Lovers' Treasury It is everywhere in the world — loud, soft, and all is said: Give it to me to use! I mix it with two in my thought: And there! Ye have heard and seen: con- sider and bow the head! All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist; Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power Whose voice has gone forth, but each sur- vives for the melodist When eternity affirms the conception of an hour. The high that proved too high,, the heroic for earth too hard. The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky. Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard; Enough that He heard it once: we shall hear it by and by. \ The Music Lovers' Treasury 169 Well, it is earth with me ; silence resumes her reign: I will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce. Give me the keys. I feel for the common chord again, Sliding by semitones till I sink to the minor, — yes. And I blunt it into a ninth, and I stand on alien ground. Surveying awhile the heights I rolled from into the deep; Which, hark, I have dared and done, for my resting-place is found. The C Major of this life: so, now I will try to sleep. Robert Browning. TO NANNETTE FALK - AUERBACH ^ Oft as I hear thee, wrapt in heavenly art. The massive message of Beethoven tell With thy ten fing^ers to the people's heart As if ten tongues told news of heaven and hell, — ' From " Poems 6f Sidney Lanier," copyright, 1884, 1891, by Mary D. Lanier; published by Charles Scribner's Sons. 170 The Music Lovers' Treasury Gazing on thee, I mark that not alone, Ah, not alone, thou sittest: there, by thee, Beethoven's self, dear living lord of tone, Doth stand and smile upon thy mastery. Full fain and fatherly his great eyes glow: He says, " From Heaven, my child, I heard thee call (For, v*rhere an artist plays, the sky is low) : Yea, since my lonesome life did lack love's all. In death, God gives me thee: thus, quit of pain. Daughter, Nannette ! in thee I live again." Sidney Lanier. WHEN KREISLER PLAYS When Kreisler plays, I hear a heart's mute cry For understanding; and none draweth nigh. The prayer of those who only ask for bread. Yet for whose comfort stones are given in- stead ; The longings that e'en winged words defy; The sobs so often under laughter lie; The Music Lovers' Treasury 171 Hoi)^gs sunrise born, that ere the sunset die — Waken and stir and come forth from the dead, When Kreisler plays. And with the dreamsibut eyes of youth espy; The ideals that we banished years gone by; That which was thought, but never has been said; That which was writ, but never has been read — Fling wide their wings and reach Faith's silver sky. When Kreisler plays ! II When Kreisler plays, with singing heart I go Into that land where falls nor hail nor snow ; Where every one is happy — and no pain Tears hearts that cry for ease, yet cry in vain. But sweet as lilied Arno's drowsy flow, The lilt of April poplar leaves a-blow ; And lovely with that light but dream -may know, Its greening fields of wind-kissed April grain, When Kreisler plays. Above me hemlock boughs are whispering low The lore Pan taught them centuries ago ; 172 The Music Lovers' Treasury And apple orchards blanch to flower again. Their petals jewelled with spent April rain ; Yea, Spring herself comes dancing down his bow, When Kreisler plays ! Ill When Kreisler plays. Creation's awesome hymn Sweeps o'er my heart-strings, and my eyes grow dim. And as when one before Love's inmost shrine, Breathing the fragrance of the blood-red wine That fills her cup of sacring to its brim. Looks up between the flame-winged cherubim. Beholds — and pales — and in the interim Hears Love call, so I hear her voice divine. When Kreisler plays. And, sweeter than the chant of seraphim. Or song of stars that through the dawning swim. Quivers the answer of this soul of mine. As kneeling by the San Grael, eyes ashine, I lay my lips against its golden rim, When Kreisler plays ! ■ Frances Bartlett. aseetboven anb Ibis 3frten5B From painting by A . Graefle The Music Lovers' Treasury 173 ADELE AUS DER OHE (Liszt) What is her playing like? 'Tis like the wind in wintry northern valleys. A dream-pause; — then it rallies And once more bends the pine-tops, shatters The ice-crags, whitely scatters The spray along the paths of avalanches. Startles the blood, and every visage blanches. II Half-sleeps the wind above a swirling pool That holds the trembling shadow of the trees ; Where waves too wildly rush to freeze Though all the air is cool; And hear, oh hear, while musically call With nearer tinkling sounds, or distant roar, Voices of fall on fall; And now a swelling blast, that dies ; and now — no more, no more. 174 ^^^ Music Lovers' Treasury (Chopin) Ah, what celestial art! And can sweet thoughts become pure tone and float. All music, into the tranced mind and heart ! Her hand scarce stirs the singing, wiry metal — Hear from the wild-rose fall each perfect petal ! II And can we have, on earth, of heaven the whole ! Heard thoughts — the soul of inexpressible thought ; Roses of sound That strew melodious leaves upon the silent ground ; And music that is music's very soul. Without one touch of earth, — Too tender, even, for sorrow, and too bright for mirth ! Richard Watson Gilder. The Music Lovers^ Treasury 175 APOSTROPHE TO JOHANN SEBAS- TIAN BACH (Prestissimo) Some who hear are rapt away From the environment of clay, Borne on wings of rapture From Earth's trifling toys, Ready to recapture Something of Heaven's joys Which they long had lost At such bitter cost — Borne beyond the evening star Infinitely far To the pearly gates Where the Flame-guard waits Each with his flashing scimitar! Oh, the soul's attuned ear Songs of heavenly choirs may hear ■ Praise to God forth-pouring. Set to harps of gold Struck by rapt adoring Angel hosts white-stoled. While the crystalline 176 The Music Lovers' Treasury Harmonies divine Of the far-revolving spheres, Carrying golden years. Swell like organ-notes. And above all floats Love's eternal hymn of joys and tears. Master Bach, this was thy power! Before thine organ seated Didst thou make music flower Like radiant many-prismed blossoms In sterile human bosoms ! Oh, miracle repeated A thousand times in thy dear life; When men defeated. Undone by strife. New courage gained. New hopes conceived; When hearts sin-stained Once more believed That purity might be attained! When Love, heart-banisht Exile with broken wings. Mourning her Eden vanisht Once more to Hope's hand clings ! And sees a beauteous vision Of joy elysian. The Music Lovers' Treasury 177 Crowned with immortal rays, And with an infinite yearning Beholds the sweet returning Of paradisal days ! Nathan Haskell Dole. CHOPIN'S NOCTURNE IN G MINOR Faint through the twilight hazes Shimmers one palpitant star; Faint through the woodland mazes The Angelus sounds afar. Only the brook's murmur golden Falls on the wanderer's ear; Voices of memories olden The soul holds breath to hear. Voices of joy and sorrow Vanished and far away As the dawn of the sun-bathed morrow Seems from this dying day, When faint through the twilight hazes Shimmers eve's palpitant star; And faint through the woodland mazes The Angelus dies afar. Arlo Bates. 178 The Music Lovers' Treasury SCHUBERT Who would know thee, a loving heart must bring, And hear with his heart's ears; else shall he miss Thy perfect message and his own true bliss, — As bird that fain would soar on single wing. But faints and falls in its unequal flight; For deepest depths of human tenderness Are thine, — the mother's love and dear caress. The wanderer's longing for the blessed sight Of home and Fatherland, the lover's heart. Wild with despair, or thrilled with joyance sweet Of happy souls who full requital meet. Thus nature's yearnings find in thee a part; O gentlest Master of them all, — since pain And joy do live, thou hast not lived in vain ! Zitella Cocke. BEETHOVEN Music as of the winds when they awake, Wailing, in the mid- forest ; music that raves The Music Lovers' Treasury 179 Like moonless tides about forlorn sea-caves On desolate shores, where, swell weird songs and break In peals of demon laughter; chords athirst With restless anguish of divine desires — The voice of a vexed soul ere it aspires With a great cry for light; anon a burst Of passionate joy — fierce joy of conscious might, Down-sinking in voluptuous luxury ; Rich harmonies, full-pulsed with deep delight, And melodies dying deliciously As odorous sighs breathed through the quiet night By violets. Thus Beethoven speaks for me. John Todhunter. BACH, IN THE FUGUES AND PRELUDES Contentedly with strictest strands confined. Sports in the sun that oceanic mind : To leap their bourn these waves did never long, Or roll against the stars their rock-bound song. William Watson. i8o The Music Lovers' Treasury CHOPIN O soul most beautiful, and loving heart! O bright, wild bird, — now crooning on thy nest. Now soaring, sped by a divine unrest, — How Nature speaks through thy perfected Art! — Till from our eyes ecstatic tears do start. Till all our soul and senses are possest. And we must weep or smile at thy behest. And in thine ever changing mood take part. Like watchers on enchanted Mount, who see Fair visions pass at a magician's call, — The fairer for their cloud of mystery, — Who feel the necromancer's spell and fall Entranced beneath its pow'r, nor would be free. So deep the rapture and so sweet the thrall ! Zitella Cocke. A MAZURKA OF CHOPIN Play on, play on, the low lights wane, So, softly, softly play! Ube /ll5anJ)olin placer From Painting by C. Kiesel The Music Lovers' Treasury i8i For your fingers draw me away, away, And dreamland comes again. Are you 'ware of little stars in a pale sky! Play on, — and say no word ! — There is scarce the breath of a midnight sigh, Or a frond of the fern-wood stirred; Was there ever a night so ma.gic still? Only a low moon is peeping Through the sway of aspens sleeping, And a ripple frets the rushes in the rill: Are you 'ware of little feet upon the grass. Tripping, rushing. Hardly brushing Any feather of the frailest as they pass. Of a twinkle of infinite tiny feet. And the kissing of tiny kisses? Never was night so summer-sweet Blessed of the moon as this is! They are threading in endless mazes, Lifting the drowsy fold Of the lids of the sleeping daisies For a look at the eyes of gold : Gossamer robes of delicate weft Cling light on the moony air. Rosy petals, a pardoned theft. Are bound on the streaming hair ; — Now round and round in a linking chain. 1 82 The Music Lover ^ Treasury Round and round and away again ! They are dancing to the ripple- they are mov- ing, Keeping time to the glinting of the star; There's a glowworm for the lantern of their loving. And wedding-bells are ringing where the heather-flowers are. Can you hear their little voices? You would hear If it were not for the ripple on the stream: Still, for a moment, — now you hear, Marvellous sweetly, clear and near. Under that silver beam, Songs of a wonder-world, my dear. World of a wonder-dream. Sir Rennell Rodd. HANDEL'S LARGO When the great organs, answering each to each. Joined with the violin's celestial speech. Then did it seem that all the heavenly host Gave praise to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost: The Music Lovers' Treasury 183 We saw the archangels through the ether winging; We heard their souls go forth in solemn sing- ing; " Praise, praise to God," they sang, " through endless days. Praise to the Eternal One, and nought but praise ; " And as they sang the spirits of the dying Were upward borne from lips that ceased their sighing ; And dying was not death, but deeper living — Living, and prayer, and praising and thanks- giving! Richard Watson Gilder. CHOPIN A dream of interlinking hands, of feet Tireless to spin the unseen, fairy woof, Of the entangling waltz. Bright eyebeams meet, Gay laughter echoes from the vaulted roof. Warm perfumes rise; the soft unflickering glow 184 The Music Lovers' Treasury Of branching lights sets off the changeful charms Of glancing gems, rich stuffs, the dazzling snow Of necks unkerchieft, and bare, clinging arms. Hark to the milisic! How beneath the strain Of reckless revelry, vibrates and sobs One fundamental chord of constant pain. The pulse-beat of the poet's heart that throbs. So yearns, though all the dancing waves re- joice. The troubled sea's disconsolate, deep voice. II Who shall proclaim the golden fable false Of Orpheus' miracles? This subtle strain Above our prose-world's sordid loss and gain Lightly uplifts us. With the rhythmic waltz. The lyric prelude, the nocturnal song Of love and languor, varied visions rise. That melt and blend to our enchanted eyes. The Polish poet who sleeps silenced long. The seraph-souled musician, breathes again Eternal eloquence, immortal pain. Revived the exalted face we know so well. The illuminated eyes, the fragile frame. The Music Lovers^ Treasury 185 Slowly consuming with its inward flame. We stir not, speak not, lest we break the spell. Emma Lazarus. THE ORGAN (Allegro) Gift of the faithful, the eloquent organ, Gracing the loft that faces the transept, Waits for the master to waken the spirit Forth from the marvellous heart of the in- strument. Silent as yet are the tall golden bourdons. Motionless lie the powerful bellows; Closed are the stops, all inert are the pedals: They will respond at the hour of the festival. Come, O breath of the gale from the ocean. Come from the far distant murmuring forest. Come from the reeds that sigh by the river: It is your music the master makes manifest. Songs of the warblers, the soughing of branches, Waterfalls, mountain-brooks, silverly tinkling. i86 The Music Lovers' Treasury Echo of lakes when the ice shouts his psean — All these mellifluous voices you bring with you! Nathan Haskell Dole. BACH As some cathedral vast, whose lofty spire Is ever pointing upward to the sky, Whose grand proportions, transept, nave, and choir. Impress with awe, and charm by sym- metry, — Stupendous pile, where sister arts with grave And loving tenderness mould form and frieze. Adorn entablature and architrave, And touch with life the marble effigies, — So, great tone-master, strength and sweetness dwell In thee, close-knit in interwoven chain Of harmony, by whose resistless spell. Uplifted to sublime, supernal strain, The soul shall reach the noble, true, and pure, — Strong to achieve, and faithful to endure! Zitella Cocke. B&agto Consolante From Painting by George Hoesslin The Music Loverf Treasury 187 THE FUGUE (Andante Maestoso) Hark! like a golden thread of sound aerial A plaintive cadence from the organ steals: It trembles, rises, floats away ethereal ! The soul in silent prayer devoutly kneels. Then comes a change : a crash of chords rolls thundering And shakes the windows in their leaded panes ; It thrills the throng who listen breathless- wondering. To hear the splendor of the sequent strains. From out the chaos of the weird prophetical Emerges like the crystal light of life A fervid theme, spontaneous, poetical. That sings of strenuous victory won from strife. With deeper tones the same great theme euphonious Ensues enmesht in woof of woven sounds. i88 The Music Lovers' Treasury Thus grows the fugue: a splendid web har- monious With a whole world of beauty in its bounds. Nathan Haskell Dole. BEETHOVEN Sublimest Master, thou, of harmony, From whose untroubled depths serenely flow The sinuous streams of sweetest melody; Now in exhaustless fulness dost thou know The joy divine thy raptured strains foretold; God's harmony thy prayer hath satisfied. His music on thy listening ear hath rolled; Accord unmarred, for which thy spirit sighed. In its completeness, through the eternal years Is thine ; thy yearning soul its echo dim Didst catch amid thy mortal woes and fears, — An earnest of the blest, perpetual hymn, And legacy to us, which shall inspire. With something of thy pure, celestial fire. Zitella Cocke. The Music Lovers' Treasury 189 WAGNER Whom shall I purify? Whose soul is strong To lift the burden of a hero's grief And dare to be reborn to give relief To his immortal suffering in song? Canst thou with me sustain that glory's light, Which bathes the young god's earthly, human form? Canst thou undaunted gird thee for the storm To buffet death itself and sink in night? Prove thou thy mind and heart lest impotent. Thou learn her boundless sorrow and be dumb, So, false to her whose hate could over- come The sister's love she bore nor would relent Till on her ear that elemental roar As of some helpless, caged and butchered thing Now dies away, now rises thundering To die again, and all is peace once more. igo The Music Lovers' Treasury Too much! Not yet, great shadows of the brain, Not yet ! Be all your tireless passions mute, Until, O music's poet, resolute Thou bid them rise to love and hate again. Henry Johnson. MOZART If to the intellect and passions strong Beethoven speak, with such resistless power. Making us share the full creative hour, When his wand fixed wild Fancy's mystic throng. Oh, Nature's finest lyre! to thee belong The deepest, softest tones of tenderness. Whose purity the listening angels bless. With silvery clearness of seraphic song. Sad are those chords, oh heavenward striving soul! And love, which never found its home on earth, Pensively vibrates, even in thy mirth. And gentle laws thy lightest notes control; Yet dear that sadness! spheral concords felt Purify most those hearts which most they melt. Margaret Fuller Ossoli. The Music Lovers' Treasury 191 BEETHOVEN'S MUSIC TO FAUST O God of loving mercy, wilt Thou deign To hear my prayer that yet a little while. Only a little space I may beguile This misery, creating once again? Be it not yet in vain that I have learned To weave the myriad-colored robe of thought, With purest gold and richest gems in- wrought. While in my heart of hearts Thy fire burned. If it be wrong, my brother, to have grieved At thy distress, and sought to enter in To all that's hidden, then our art is sin. And we are all deceivers and deceived. My sister, I have lived thy life with thee From merry childhood to the thoughtful days Of womanhood with forward-looking gaze And suffered with thee in thine agony. And paid the utmost farthing to atone For all thou didst, and found at last release 192 The Music Lovers' Treasury From this world's mystery in perfect peace. — Fetch me my book and leave me here alone. Henry Johnson. BEETHOVEN Most intellectual master of the art, Which, best of all, teaches the mind of man The universe in all its varied plan — What strangely mingled thoughts thy strains impart ! Here the faint tenor thrills the inmost heart. There the rich bass the Reason's balance shows ; Here breathes the softest sigh that Love e'er knows; There sudden fancies, seeming without chart, Float into wildest breezy interludes; The part is all forgot — hopes sweetly breathe. And our whole being glows — when lo! be- neath The flowery brink. Despair's deep sob con- cludes ! Startled, we try to free us from the chain — Notes of high triumph swell, and we are thine again 1 Margaret Fuller Ossoli. The Music Lovers' Treasury 193 BEETHOVEN O sovereign Master! stern and splendid power, That calmly dost both time and death defy ; Lofty and lone as mountain-peaks that tower, Leading our thoughts up to the eternal sky : Keeper of some divine, mysterious key. Raising us far above all human care. Unlocking awful gates of harmony To let heaven's Ught in on the world's despair ; Smiter of solemn chords that still command Echoes in souls that suffer and aspire, In the great moment while we hold thy hand, Baptized with pain and rapture, tears and fire, God lifts our saddened foreheads from the dust. The everlasting God, in whom we trust! Celia Thaxter. A MEMORY OF RUBINSTEIN He of the ocean is, its thunderous waves Echo his music; while far down the shore 194 The Music Lovers' Treasury Mad laughter hurries — a white, blowing spume. I hear again in memory that wild storm; The winds of heaven go rushing round the world, And broods above the rage one sphinx-like face. Richard Watson Gilder. MOZART As through the leafy close the crystal shine Of streamlet purling on its way is seen. Nor in its mazes down the clust'ring green Of intertacing boughs and pendent vine. Nor 'neath the shadows of the day's decline Is hid, — so doth thy melody's bright sheen Flash through close harmony's inwoven screen ; "*" And well we call thy matchless strains divine ! Who lists shall live in Golden Age once more. Shall catch the voice of sweet Arcadian lutes, Behold, as erst, glad nymphs dance on the shore, To tabor's sound and dithyrambic flutes, Uerpstcbore Fyom painting by L. F. Schutzenberger The Music Lovers' Treasury 195 Hear Philomel within the moonlit grove, And tuneful shepherd piping to his love. Zitella Cocke. SCHUBERT'S (UNFINISHED) SYMPHONY The muffled sobbing of a storm-scourged sea ; The heartache of a lonely hemlock tree ; The anthems that the stars of morning sing ; A brook's thanksgiving when is born the Spring; The laughter of young birch leaves, drenched with dew ; The rapture creeping meadow grasses through ; The challenge of the pennons of the corn ; A thrush's welcome to the rosy morn ; The matin chime of bluebells softly rung; The elm's Magnificat when June is young; The salutation of wind-wakened grain; The benediction of midsummer rain ; The drowsy plaint drifting through August noons ; The call of nightingales to August moons; 196 The Music Lovers' Treasury The soft lament of withered walnut leaves ; The memories of garnered barley sheaves ; The song the heart sings when its lord is come; The thoughts whose exaltation strikes lips dumb; A soul's mute answer to a soul's mute call; The longings that are prayers — it voices all ! Frances Bartlett. CHOPIN Calm is the close of the day. All things are quiet and blest ; Low in the darkening west The young moon sinks slowly away. Without, in the twilight, I dream; Within it is cheerful and bright With faces that bloom in the light. And the cold keys that silently gleam. Then a magical touch draws near. And a voice like a call of delight Cleaves the calm of the beautiful night, And I turn from my musing to hear. The Music Lovers' Treasury 197 Lo ! the movement too wondrous to name ! Agitation and rapture, the press As of myriad waves that caress, And break into vanishing flame. Ah ! but the exquisite strain. Sinking to pathos so sweet ! Is life then a lie and a cheat? Hark to the hopeless refrain! Comes a shock like the voice of a soul Lost to good, to all beauty and joy, Led alone by the powers that destroy, And fighting with fiends for control. Drops a chord like the grave's first clod. Then again toss the waves of caprice. Wild, delicate, sweet, with no peace, No health, and no yielding to God. O Siren, that charmest the air With this potent and passionate spell, Sad as songs of the angels that fell. Thou leadest alone to despair ! What troubles the night ? It grows chill — Let the weird, wild music be ; 198 The Music Lovers' Treasury Fronts us the infinite sea And Nature is holy and still. Celia Thaxter. BEETHOVEN'S THIRD SYMPHONY Passion and pain, the outcry of despair, The pang of unattainable desire. And youth's delight in pleasures that expire, And sweet high dreamings of the good and fair Clashing in swift soul-storm, through which no prayer Uplifted stays the destined death-stroke dire! Then through -a mighty sorrowing as through fire The soul burnt pure yearns forth into the air Of the dear earth and, with the scent of flowers And song of birds refreshed, takes heart again, Made cheerier with this drinking of God's wine, And turns with healing to the world of men; The Music Lovers' Treasury 199 And high above a sweet strong angel towers, And Love makes life triumphant and divine. Richard Hovey. BEETHOVEN'S FIFTH SYMPHONY The mind's deep .history here in tones is wrought, The faith, the struggles of the aspiring soul. The confidence of youth, the chill control Of manhood's doubts by stern experience taught ; Alternate moods of bold and timorous thought. Sunshine and shadow — cloud and aureole ; The failing foothold as the shining goal Appears, and truth so long, so fondly sought Is blurred and dimmed. Again and yet again The exulting march resounds. We must win now! Slowly the doubts dissolve in clearer air. Bolder and grander the triumphal strain Ascends. Heaven's light is glancing on the brow. And turns to boundless hope the old despair. Christopher P. Cranch. 200 The Music Lovers' Treasury BEETHOVEN'S SIXTH SYMPHONY (Andante) Sounding above the warring of the years, Over their stretch of toil and pain and fears, Comes the well-loved refrain, The ancient voice again. Sweeter than when, beside the river's marge, We lay and watched, like innocence at large, The cheerful waters flow, Speaks this brave music now. Tender as sunlight upon childhood's head. Serene as moonlight upon childhood's bed, Comes the remembered power Of that long-vanished hour. The river ran with merry voice and low. The gentle ripples rippling far below. Talked with no idle voice. Though idling were their choice. Now through the tumult and the pride of life, Gentler, yet firmly soothing all its strife. Hbagto From painting by J. C. Herttrich The Music Lovers' Treasury 201 Nature draws near once more And knocks at the world's door: She walks within her wild harmonious maze, Weaving her melodies from doubt and haze, And leaves us free from care Like children standing there. Annie Adams Fields. BEETHOVEN'S SEVENTH SYMPHONY (Poco Sostenuto) The dead Christ starts, the shadows lift, the light Lengthens across the Galilean's face; Death flees before impetuous hosts that chase With swords of sunshine and white spears to smite Grim wraiths of agonies and lingering sight Of scarred Golgotha in divine disgrace. The light beats swift and swifter, and the space Stirs with the 1 passion of immortal might. 202 The Music Lovers' Treasury (Allegretto) The dead Christ arises ; the grave is defeated ; the stone Is rolled away by the angels. An Easter paean! The air is a tumult of tremulous wonder- ings. The sweet winds are weighted with spirits from Paradise flown. On one mighty billow of song the strong Galilean Moves into the light and the rapture and flutter of wings. (Presto) Waking Easter lilies lift their eyes To the weeping eyes of Magdalene; Sounds, bewildering, agitate between Earth and sky, and all things seem to rise. Mystery casts off its dark disguise, Life and power leap from the Nazarene ; Earth and sky are filled with radiant sheen, Flash of wings and surge of Paradise. The Music Lovers' Treasury 203 (Finale: Allegro con brio) Heaven is emptied of angels; the jubilant legions, Wild with tumultuous rapture and breath- less despair, Whirling and swirling, encircle with song and with laughter. Strong with the infinite strength to the infinite regions, Rises the Crucified, swift on the tides of the air, Drawing the worshipping ages in ecstasy after. Lyman W. Allen. A SYMPHONY (Allegretto) Sweet melody with rippling hair And mantle curving on the air. In faultless mazes winds around Through all the free extent of sound. 204 T'f^^ Music Lovers' Treasury (Andante Maestoso) Now calm, majestic is her tread. With stately pose and lofty head ; A star upon her forehead burns. As goddess-like she moves and turns. (Vivace non troppo) Then quick with supple waist she trips Adown the lawn with hands on hips. And swaying head and laughing eye, — A simple witch-maid dancing by. (Adagip) Now slow and sad her measured pace. With drooping head and tearful face. Her sable garments sweep the sands, Bereaved, a mourning queen she stands. (Allegro Vivacissimo) Then whirling in ecstatic rings, Her tangled tresses free she flings. The Music Lovers^ Treasury 205 And beats, 'mid filmy gauze's sheen, Her ribbon-streaming tamborine. Henry Morgan Stone. THE SYMPHONY What dreams and longings are within me stirred ? All that a ripened life can grasp and hold, With those suggestive whispers still untold, Mingled and blended with compelling word. ^ A theme of youth, — rich, mellow, promise- filled. Which modulates, perplexed with varied scene Till the last motive stands full-robed, serene. It satisfies : and life's unrest is stilled. With dreams fulfilled, and soul suffused with peace. Andante wraps the sense in subtle mist. Enfold me, luring phantom, close and long — But let the last slow cadence bring release. Thy sweet delirium I would fain resist. And dance, clear- visioned, to a joyous song. Helen Philbrook Patten. 206 The Music Lovers' Treasury INTERLUDE (Allegretto) Now swells a martial symphony. Wherein the speechless ecstasy Of genius wrought to whitest heat Finds its expression so complete That blended wood and brass and strings And the great organ's cadencings Lift men and bear them far away. As in the old, miraculous day King Solomon's magic carpet bore From town to town, from shore to shore. From Palestine to Turkestan, From Ispahan to Candahar, Nay, even to the evening star. Whoever knew its talisman ! Nathan Haskell Dole. ESSIPOFF I What is her playing like? I ask — while dreaming here under her music's power. The Music Lovers' Treasury 207 'Tis like the leaves of the dark passion-flower Which grows on a strong vine whose roots, oh deep they sink. Deep in the ground, that flower's pure life to drink. II What is her playing like? 'Tis like a bird Who, singing in a wild wood, never knows That its lone melody is heard By wandering mortal, who forgets his heavy woes. Richard Watson Gilder. THE LUTE -PLAYER OF CASA BLANCA No others sing as you have sung Oh, Well Beloved of me ! So glad you are, so lithe and young, As joyous as the sea. That dances in the golden rain The falling sunbeams fling, — Ah, stoop and kiss me once again Then take your lute and sing. Oh, Lute-player, my Lute-player, Take up your lute and sing! 2o8 The Music Lovers' Treasury The wind comes blowing, light and free : In all the summer isles No laughing thing it found to see As brilliant as your smiles. You are the very heart of Youth, The very Soul of Song, That lovely dream, made living truth. For which the poets long. Oh, Lute-player, my Lute-player, The very Soul of Song! Ah, dear and dark-eyed Lute-player, This joy is almost pain. To reach, when evening cools the air. Your level roof again. To see the palms, erect and slim, Against a golden sky. And hear, as twilight closes dim. The Mouddin's mournful cry, Across your songs, my Lute-player, The Faithful's evening cry. Each slender finger lightly slips. To its appointed strings. Ah, the sweet scarlet, parted lips Of One Beloved, who sings ! Ah, the soft radiance of eyes Ube Dance From Painting by J. Coomans The Music Lovers' Treasury 209 By love and music lit! What need of Heaven beyond the skies Since here we enter it? You make my Heaven, my Lute-player, And hold the keys of it ! And when the music waxes strong, I hear the sound of War, The drums are throbbing in the song, The clamor and the roar. The Desert's self is in the strain, The agony of slaves. The winds that sigh, as if in pain. About forgotten graves. Oh, Lute-player, my Lute-player, Those lonely Desert graves ! The sightless sockets, whence the eyes, Were wrenched or burnt away. The mangled form that e'er it dies. Becomes the jackal's prey. The forced caress, the purchased smile, Ere youth be yet awake, — Ah, break your melody awhile Or else my heart will break ! • I sometimes think, my Lute-player, You wish my heart to break! 2IO The Music Lovers' Treasury The sunset fires desert the West, The stars invade the sky. Lover of mine, 'tis time to rest And let the music die. Though Melody awake the mom. Yet Love should end the day. I kiss your hand the strings have worn And take your lute away. I kiss your hand, my ,Lute-player, And take the Lute away. At twilight on this roof of ours. So lonely and so high. We catch the scent of all the flowers Ascending to the sky. Sultan of Song, whose burning eyes Outblaze the stars above. Forget not, when the sunset dies You reign as Lord of Love ! Ah, come to me, my Lute-player, Lover, and Lord of Love! Laurence Hope. The Music Lovers' Treasury ,211 MUSIC (From "Twelfth Night") If music be the food of love, play on ; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting. The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again — it had a dying fall : O, it camie o'er my ear like the sweet south That breathes upon a bank of violets. Stealing, and giving odor. William Shakespeare. MUSIC The soul of music slumbers in the shell. Till waked and kindled by the master's spell : And feeHng hearts — touch them but rightly — pour A thousand melodies unheard before ! Samuel Rogers. MUSIC O Harmony ! thou tenderest nurse of pain. If that thy note's sweet magic e'er can heal 212 The Music Lovers' Treasury Griefs which the patient spirit oft may feel. Oh ! let me Usten to thy songs again ; Till memory her fairest tints shall bring; Hope wake with brighter eye, and listening seem With smiles to think on some delightful dream. That waved o'er the charmed sense its glad- some wing! For when thou . leadest all thy soothing strains More smooth along, the silent passions meet. In one suspended transport, sad and sweet; And nought but sorrow's softest touch re- mains ; That, when the transitory charm is o'er, Just wakes a tear, and then is felt no more. William Lisle Bowles. PSALM CL. Praise ye the Lord. Praise God in his sanc- tuary: praise him in the firmament of his power. Praise him for his mighty acts: praise him according to his excellent greatness. The Music Lovers' Treasury 213 Praise him with the sound of the trumpet: praise him with the psaltery and harp. Praise him with the timbrel and dance : praise him with stringed instruments and organs. Praise him upon the loud cymbals : praise him upon the high-sounding cymbals. Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord. Praise ye the Lord. Anonymous. THE END. INDEX OF AUTHORS PAGE Albee, John. Music and Memory 54 Aldrich, Anne Reeve. Music of Hungary 84 Aldrich, Thomas Bailey. Hassan's Music 74 Allen, Lyman W. Beethoven's Seventh Symphony . . .201 Anderson, Margaret Steele. The Violinist 104 Anonymous. Psalm CL 212 Bartlett, Frances. Schubert's (Unfinished) Symphony . . -195 When Kreisler Plays 170 Bates, Arlo. Chopin's Nocturne in G Minor .... i77 Bates, Katherine Lee. The Organist 105 21S 2i6 Index of Authors PAGE Bayley, Peter, Jr. On Hearing an .(EoUan Harp .... 8 Blake, William. The Piper Iig Borrow, George. Woinomoinen's Music .'.... 76 BouRDiLLON, Francis William. A Violinist ....... 154 Bowles, William Lisle. Music 211 Braithwaite, William Stanley. On Music 68 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett. A Musical Instrument 143 Browning, Robert. Abt Vogler 165 Burdktte, Robert J. Songs without Words 125 Burton, Richard. A Chopin Prelude 152 A Prelude . . Ii 5 Dissonances 67 Of Music 64 Old Songs 91 Byron, Lord. The Harp the Monarch Minstrel Swept . . 73 Cheney, John Vance. Music 61 Cocke, Zitella. Bach 186 Beethoven 188 Index of Authors 217 PAGE Chopin 180 Mozart 104 Schubert 178 CoLEKiDGE, Samuel Taylor. The jEolian Harp 1^7 Collins, William. O Music I Sphere-descended Maid ... 25 CoNGREVE, William. Music 53 Cranch, Christopher Pearse. Beethoven's Fifth Symphony .... 199 Music 56 Music and Poetry 12 The Overture 126 Dallas, Mary Kyle. " He'd Nothing but His Violin" . . .131 Darley, George. To My Lyre go DoBSON, Austin. " With Pipe and Flute " 118 Dole, Nathan Haskell. Apostrophe to Johann Sebastian Bach . 175 Interlude 206 The Fugue 187 The Orchestra . . , 128 The Organ 185 Drummond, William. To His Lute 140 Dryden, John. Alexander's Feast ; or, The Power of Music . 26 Song for Saint Cecilia's Day .... 18 21 8 Index of Authors PAGB Edwards, Richard. A Song to the Lute in Musicke . . .17 Egan, Maurice Francis. The Old Violin 149 Eliot, George. Stradivarius ....... 161 Fields, Annie Adams. Beethoven's Sixth Symphony .... 200 Ford, John. The Musical Duel. 137 Garnett, Richard. Music 72 Gilder, Richard Watson. Adele Aus Der Ohe 173 A Memory of Rubinstein 193 Essipoff . . 206 Handel's Largo 182 The Cello 150 TheVioUn 153 GossE, Edmund. On a Lute Found in a Sarcophagus . . .136 The Pipe-player 130 Herrick, Robert. To Music, — A Song 43 To Music, — To Becalm His Fever ... 24 Hinsdale, F. G. My Old Guitar ....... 132 Holden, Warren. The Violin . . ..... 160 Index of Authors 2 19 PAGE Hope, Laurence. The Lute-player of Casa Blanca . . . 207 HovEY, Richard. Beethoven's Third Symphony . . . .198 Hunt, Leigh. Hearing Music 69 On Hearing a Little Musical Box . . . 123 The Lover of Music to His Pianoforte . . 85 Japp, Alexander H. A Music Lesson 120 Johnson, Henry. Beethoven's Music to Faust .... 191 Wagner . 189 Keble, John. Inward Music 43 Knowles, Frederic Lawrence. The Singer iii Lampman, Archibald. Music 70 The Piano 89 Landor, Walter Savage Music 70 On Music 66 Lang, Andrew. An Old Tune 83 Lanier, Sidney. To Nannette Falk-Auerbach .... i6g Lazarus, Emma. Chopin 183 Symphonic Studies .158 220 Index of Authors PAGB Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. The Singera nc Lowell, James Russell. Remembered Music 44 To a Lady Playing on the Cithern . . . 100 Luther, Martin. Our Lady of Music 33 Mace, Frances Laughton. Thy Song gg Marston, Philip Bourke. Love and Music m Persistent Music cj Mellen, Grenville. The Bugle . . i,., Milton, John. At a Solemn Music ■-.... 22 To Leonora, Singing at Rome .... 103 Moore, Thomas. On Music . . . .- . . . .50 The Harp that Once through Tara's Halls . 75 Osgood, Frances Sargent On Sivori's Violin j <6 OssoLi, Margaret Fuller. Beethoven 192 Instrumental Music yi Mozart 190 Parsons, Thomas William. Musica Trionfante ... . . 62 Viva La Musica . . ... 61; Index of Authors 221 PAGB Patten, Helen Philbrook. The Symphony ..... . . 205 Peabody, Josephine Preston. After Music -55 Pope, Alexander. Ode for Music on St. Cecilia's Day . • • 35 Procter, Adelaide Anne. A Lost Chord 92 Procter, Bryan Waller (" Barry Cornwall ")• Music 14 Sisters of Music 6i RoDD, Sir Rennell. A Mazurka of Chopin ... . 180 Music 55 Where Did Yo'u Learn that Music } . . .86 Rogers, Samuel. Music 211 Rossetti, Dante Gabriel. The Monochord 49 Schiller, Frederick. To Laura, Playing 107 Scott, Sir Walter. Harp of the North 141 Shakespeare, William. From " The Passionate Pilgrim " . . -13 Influence of Music 42 Music - . 45 Music . 211 Sonnet VIII. ...... 21 Sonnet CXXVIIL ...... 68 222 Index of Authors PAGB Shelley, Percy Bysshe. Music 48 Suggestions of Music 4° To Constantia, Singing 109 To Jane "3 WithaGuitar — To Jane loi Sill, Edward Rowland. To a Face at a Concert 99 Spofford, Harriet Prescott. Music in the Night 94 Trumpets in Lohengrin 88 Stone, Henry Morgan. A Symphony 203 Strode, William. Music 52 Tabb, John. Banister. Beethoven and Angelo 16 Taylor, Joseph Russell. The Flute 134 Tennyson, Alfred. Bugle Song 131 Choric Song 47 Thaxter, Celia. Beethoven 193 Chopin ........ 196 Schumann's Sonata in A Minor . . • 1 55 Thayer, William Roscoe. The Violin's Complaint ..... 147 Thomson, James. On jEoIus's Harp 148 Thomson, James (the Younger). Index of Authors 223 PAGE To a Pianiste 87 TODHUNTER, JOHN. Beethoven 178 Trowbridge, Robertson. Symphony ii Turner, Charles Tennyson. The ^olian Harp 152 Urmy, Clarence. To a Flute-player 145 Van Dyke, Henry. Sea and Shore 15 Watson, William. Bach, In the Fugues and Preludes . . .179 The Keyboard 117 White, Henry Kirke. " Hushed Is the Lyre — The Hand that Swept " 143 Whitman, Walt. From " A Song for Occupations " . . .22 From " Song of Myself " .... 129 Whiton - Stone, Cara E. Music in an Avenue 81 Wordsworth, William. Power of Music 77 The Solitary Reaper 97 Wratislaw, Theodore. The Music Hall 114