Tasso and the Sisters Tasso's Spirit: The Nuptials of Juno: The Skeletons: The Spirits of the Ocean. Poems, By Thomas Wade |
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 | Tasso and the Sisters |  |
Such were the mournful words that flow'd
From lips divinely rare,
As round the dome those Spirits stood,
And watch'd its portals fair;
Which, as the plaintive song was sung,
Apart were slowly, gently swung;
And, as they oped, their hinges threw
Strange music on the waters blue,
Which join'd its altering notes to those
That from the throng of Spirits rose:—
One sound would speak of hope betray'd,
The next of beauty's bloom decay'd;
And then a note would rise that told
Of passion wreck'd and love grown cold,
And as it floated on the tide
Each mournful Spirit deeply sigh'd:
Anon, the music in its strain
Told of despair's undying pain,
Of youth and glory doom'd to die,
And heave the wild and bitter sigh
Of Hope's expiring agony:
Then chang'd the notes that told of madness
To those more gentle and less wild,
Warbling of sorrow's speechless sadness,
Of feelings desolate, yet mild;—
But tho' the music varied ever
In each melodious flow,
It told of joy's bland tumults never—
Its sounds were all of woe:—
Tho' loud they rise, tho' gently fall,
A note of sadness runs thro' all.
From lips divinely rare,
As round the dome those Spirits stood,
And watch'd its portals fair;
Which, as the plaintive song was sung,
Apart were slowly, gently swung;
And, as they oped, their hinges threw
Strange music on the waters blue,
Which join'd its altering notes to those
That from the throng of Spirits rose:—
One sound would speak of hope betray'd,
The next of beauty's bloom decay'd;
66
Of passion wreck'd and love grown cold,
And as it floated on the tide
Each mournful Spirit deeply sigh'd:
Anon, the music in its strain
Told of despair's undying pain,
Of youth and glory doom'd to die,
And heave the wild and bitter sigh
Of Hope's expiring agony:
Then chang'd the notes that told of madness
To those more gentle and less wild,
Warbling of sorrow's speechless sadness,
Of feelings desolate, yet mild;—
But tho' the music varied ever
In each melodious flow,
It told of joy's bland tumults never—
Its sounds were all of woe:—
Tho' loud they rise, tho' gently fall,
A note of sadness runs thro' all.
| Tasso and the Sisters | |