 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
362
Sentimental Music.—F. G. Halleck.
Sounds as of far off bells came on his ears;
He fancied 'twas the music of the spheres;
He was mistaken; it was no such thing;
'Twas Yankee Doodle, played by Scudder's band.
He muttered, as he lingered, listening,
Something of freedom, and our happy land;
Then sketched, as to his home he hurried fast,
This sentimental song,—his saddest, and his last:—
He fancied 'twas the music of the spheres;
He was mistaken; it was no such thing;
'Twas Yankee Doodle, played by Scudder's band.
He muttered, as he lingered, listening,
Something of freedom, and our happy land;
Then sketched, as to his home he hurried fast,
This sentimental song,—his saddest, and his last:—
“Young thoughts have music in them, love
And happiness their theme;
And music wanders in the wind
That lulls a morning dream.
And there are angel voices heard,
In childhood's frolic hours,
When life is but an April day,
Of sunshine and of flowers.
And happiness their theme;
And music wanders in the wind
That lulls a morning dream.
And there are angel voices heard,
In childhood's frolic hours,
When life is but an April day,
Of sunshine and of flowers.
“There's music in the forest leaves
When summer winds are there,
And in the laugh of forest girls
That braid their sunny hair.
The first wild bird that drinks the dew
From violets of the spring,
Has music in his song, and in
The fluttering of his wing.
When summer winds are there,
And in the laugh of forest girls
That braid their sunny hair.
The first wild bird that drinks the dew
From violets of the spring,
Has music in his song, and in
The fluttering of his wing.
“There's music in the dash of waves,
When the swift bark cleaves their foam;
There's music heard upon her deck—
The mariner's song of home—
When moon and star-beams, smiling, meet,
At midnight, on the sea;
And there is music once a week
In Scudder's balcony.
When the swift bark cleaves their foam;
There's music heard upon her deck—
The mariner's song of home—
When moon and star-beams, smiling, meet,
At midnight, on the sea;
And there is music once a week
In Scudder's balcony.
“But the music of young thoughts too soon
Is faint, and dies away,
And from our morning dreams we wake
To curse the coming day.
And childhood's frolic hours are brief,
And oft, in after years,
Their memory comes to chill the heart,
And dim the eye with tears.
Is faint, and dies away,
And from our morning dreams we wake
To curse the coming day.
And childhood's frolic hours are brief,
And oft, in after years,
Their memory comes to chill the heart,
And dim the eye with tears.
363
“To-day the forest leaves are green;
They'll wither on the morrow,
And the maiden's laugh be changed, ere long,
To the widow's wail of sorrow.
Come with the winter snows, and ask
Where are the forest birds;
The answer is a silent one,
More eloquent than words.
They'll wither on the morrow,
And the maiden's laugh be changed, ere long,
To the widow's wail of sorrow.
Come with the winter snows, and ask
Where are the forest birds;
The answer is a silent one,
More eloquent than words.
“The moonlight music of the waves
In storms is heard no more,
When the livid lightning mocks the wreck
At midnight on the shore;
And the mariner's song of home has ceased—
His corse is on the sea;
And music ceases, when it rains,
In Scudder's balcony.”
In storms is heard no more,
When the livid lightning mocks the wreck
At midnight on the shore;
And the mariner's song of home has ceased—
His corse is on the sea;
And music ceases, when it rains,
In Scudder's balcony.”
| The American common-place book of poetry | |