Under Green Leaves :: :: University of Virginia Library

The melodies! the harmonies!
They fall from my fingers free,
Like rain where the tree-tops quiver,
Like hail on the rippling river,
Like sunbeams on the sea.
And there are thoughts within them,
And fancies fresh and young;—
But, alas! I cannot utter them
For failure of my tongue.
The melodies, the harmonies,
Unspoken and unsung!

I would I were a poet,
And that my thoughts could reach
The magic and the mystery,
And affluence of speech;—
That I might tell my secrets
And all that I could teach;—
Or that some kindly minstrel,
With thoughts akin to mine,
Would deign to sit beside me,
And help me to entwine
My music with his language
Into a chain divine,
That men might bind their hearts with,
Like a trellis'd vine.

But the melodies! the harmonies!
They die as they are born,
With none to understand them;—
So sweetly as I plann'd them,
In my joy forlorn!

The breath of an emotion
And a happy pain,
They drop on the wide, wide ocean,
Like the barren rain;
And when I would revive them,
I look for them in vain.

II. PART II.—HELL-PAINS.

Oh, vile, vile catgut-scrapers,
Tormentors of sweet Sound,
That bruise her, and destroy her,
My queen, my goddess crown'd!
What has dear Music done,
She that so loveth us,
Ye bloodless and stone-hearted,
That you should use her thus?

Each movement of your arms
Goes through me like a pang!—
Ye singers and horn-blowers,
There's death in every twang!
'Twas surely Satan school'd you,
And well you've learn'd your parts,
To vex, to plague, to torture
Our unoffending hearts!

You could not be more cruel,
If, wielding barbs and prongs,
You dug them in my bosom,
And call'd the misery,—songs!
My ear is wrench'd and bleeding
At every note you make;
Be silent—oh, be silent—
For heavenly Pity's sake!

What would I give! what tribute
Of worship and of tears,

If Song, as I have dream'd it,
Could flow on my happy ears!
If one—one only singer,
Amid this peopled earth,
Could understand my music
As I who gave it birth;—
Such as my soul design'd it!—
Alas! 'tis vain to seek;—
Men sing, and the hot blood rushes
In madness to my cheek,
And women tear my heart out,
As they squeal, and scream, and shriek.

Come, bore in my ear with corkscrews!
Make every nerve a knot,
And pierce my brain with needles,
If pain must be my lot;
But cease, oh! cease, in mercy,
This misery supreme,
That Hell can never equal!—

And let me lie and dream
That to my soul, long-suffering,
Will due reward be given,—
My music sung by angels
Amid the choir of Heaven!

III. PART III.—HEAVEN-JOYS.

O Music! my delight!
My soul's supremest joy!
Let me lie to-night, to-night,
On thy bosom coy!
Let me lie all night awake,
Embalm'd in thy honey breath,
That wafts me up to Heaven,
In a wild ecstatic death.
Up! up! above the stars
With thee I float! I soar!

To the shadow of God's throne!
To the world-bespangled floor!
Where sit the white-robed seraphs,
Singing for evermore!

O Music! oh, my life!
How beautiful art thou!
With the Love in thy deep, deep heart,
And the Wisdom on thy brow!
As I play with the golden hair
That falls o'er thy shoulders fair,
I deem that every thread
To my toying fingers given,
Is a ray of sunlight spread,
Or a string from the Harp of Heaven.
I feel thy beating heart,
And know, sweet lady mine,
That it throbs to the march of worlds,
With a harmony divine.

I touch; but dare not kiss thee,
For the glow of thy burning eyes,
Lest I should yield my spirit
In my speechless ecstasies,
And be slain like a mortal lover
Who dares to raise his thought
To the beauty of a goddess,
Loving, but lightning-fraught!

Yet, since I'm born to die,
And to float into the Past,
Let me die on thy beating bosom,
My bride, my first and last!
Drinking thy whisper'd rapture,
Let me faint upon thy breast,
And melt away in echoes,
Immortal with the blest!