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76
Tchaikovsky's “Symphonie Pathétique:”
Inscribed to Henry J. Wood.
The Spirit of our dead Century, sick of dreams,
Of hopes forlorn, vain victories, weariness,
Sings, wails, defies life's horror here, it seems,
As its dead moods like spectres round it press.
Of hopes forlorn, vain victories, weariness,
Sings, wails, defies life's horror here, it seems,
As its dead moods like spectres round it press.
Like a lost child through night's cold gloom it cries,
A Titan child that weeps, and weeping sings,
Weaving from desolate woe sad lullabies
To its wild fear of grim night-wandering things.
A Titan child that weeps, and weeping sings,
Weaving from desolate woe sad lullabies
To its wild fear of grim night-wandering things.
77
Master of Sorrow and the bleeding Heart
Where Love, the Phœnix, kindling his own pyre,
That he may rise reborn and soaring start
On his new voyage, dies in vain desire!
Where Love, the Phœnix, kindling his own pyre,
That he may rise reborn and soaring start
On his new voyage, dies in vain desire!
Breathes not thy orchestra some ominous breath
Of sandal-wood, sweet gums, or spices rare,
Wherein the Arabian Bird, waiting for death,
Embalms his lonely triumph, ere Death be there?
Of sandal-wood, sweet gums, or spices rare,
Wherein the Arabian Bird, waiting for death,
Embalms his lonely triumph, ere Death be there?
Through these brief-gleaming changes of sad sound
Dark visions rise. Ah! Titan child, we know
That world where strayed thy feet: we too have found
Those happy woods, those flowers—how long ago!
Dark visions rise. Ah! Titan child, we know
That world where strayed thy feet: we too have found
Those happy woods, those flowers—how long ago!
78
We know those green glades where the sun of June
Shone through the whispering leaves, the reveries
Of youth, the splendour of Love's mystic moon,
Life's young desires that seemed her prophecies.
Shone through the whispering leaves, the reveries
Of youth, the splendour of Love's mystic moon,
Life's young desires that seemed her prophecies.
We know how she sang like a sorceress
Under the hovering threat of austere heaven;
We know the secrets of that wilderness
Where we blasphemed, bearing sins unforgiven.
Under the hovering threat of austere heaven;
We know the secrets of that wilderness
Where we blasphemed, bearing sins unforgiven.
We too have seen that sunset red as blood,
Felt that pale twilight fall with poisonous dew,
Dwelt with despair, outlawed from all things good,
Crazed by the mockery of his phantom crew;
Felt that pale twilight fall with poisonous dew,
Dwelt with despair, outlawed from all things good,
Crazed by the mockery of his phantom crew;
79
Have faced the swoop of that fierce night of storm,
The scornful thunders, and the scourging hail,
When God's frown changed the world, and things deform
Rode on the winds, grey demons of the gale.
The scornful thunders, and the scourging hail,
When God's frown changed the world, and things deform
Rode on the winds, grey demons of the gale.
We too have marched, like thee, to that stern tune,
Undaunted, though we heard remorselessly,
Relentlessly, while dark were sun and moon,
Those drums marking the tread of Destiny.
Undaunted, though we heard remorselessly,
Relentlessly, while dark were sun and moon,
Those drums marking the tread of Destiny.
Sad Titan, what Caucasian summit bleak
Waits each rash bringer of new fire to men?
Lone Phœnix, on what ne'er-ascended peak,
From what red pyre shalt thou be born again?
Waits each rash bringer of new fire to men?
Lone Phœnix, on what ne'er-ascended peak,
From what red pyre shalt thou be born again?
80
None answers. Only darkness gathers round,
The pulse of music falters. Dumbly there
Death beckons. Patiently the soul of sound
Sinks beyond passion, dies beyond despair.
The pulse of music falters. Dumbly there
Death beckons. Patiently the soul of sound
Sinks beyond passion, dies beyond despair.
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