 | Erato, number II |  |
THE MUSIC OF THE HEART.
The music of the Heart is deep—
And when once tuned to wild romancing,
In vain you bid the visions sleep
That o'er its trembling wires are dancing;
Bright dreams of childhood's yesterday
Are mingling with the dark to-morrow,
Lending a pale, a transient ray
Of joy, to light that page of sorrow.
And when once tuned to wild romancing,
In vain you bid the visions sleep
That o'er its trembling wires are dancing;
Bright dreams of childhood's yesterday
Are mingling with the dark to-morrow,
Lending a pale, a transient ray
Of joy, to light that page of sorrow.
Affection's impulse, and the gush
Of holy and of fervid feeling,
Upon the wildered senses rush,
Like music from a wind-harp stealing:
The voices of the cherish'd dead
The silentness of Death are breaking,
And from Oblivion's gelid bed
The mildewed hopes of youth are waking.
Of holy and of fervid feeling,
Upon the wildered senses rush,
Like music from a wind-harp stealing:
The voices of the cherish'd dead
The silentness of Death are breaking,
And from Oblivion's gelid bed
The mildewed hopes of youth are waking.
The music of the Heart is deep,
Too often breathing notes of sadness,
That win the wearied eye from sleep,
And turn delirious thought to madness.
—It comes! 'tis strange that it should throw
So much of gloom upon the morrow,
As if that after time of woe
Had not, itself, enough of sorrow.
Too often breathing notes of sadness,
That win the wearied eye from sleep,
And turn delirious thought to madness.
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So much of gloom upon the morrow,
As if that after time of woe
Had not, itself, enough of sorrow.
It comes—it comes!—that sorrowing strain
Rolls heavily; and Lethe's waters
Are heaving, like the mighty main
When Sea-gods war for Ocean's daughters.
It comes!—the voice of other years,
Whose prismy joys have all departed,
To commune with a child of tears,
And with the sear'd and weary-hearted.
Rolls heavily; and Lethe's waters
Are heaving, like the mighty main
When Sea-gods war for Ocean's daughters.
It comes!—the voice of other years,
Whose prismy joys have all departed,
To commune with a child of tears,
And with the sear'd and weary-hearted.
| Erato, number II | |