University of Virginia Library

TO MADAME CARADORI, SINGING.

Thy voice is like the loveliest softness bland,
Of the sweet, sweetest south, and many a band,
Which chained (or seemed to chain them wearily,
Until they languished, and were like to die.)
Bright flowery treasures of the dreaming mind,
All delicate and fragile and refined—
It loosens now; they brightening bloom, and blow
Beneath that magic breath, and breathe and glow
Themselves, and turn to music, though they were
Moveless and mute, till freed by that sweet air—
That trembles o'er them now—a breath divine:
'Tis surely sent from realms where cloudless shine
Immortal suns, in glory of repose—
Where rapture ever soars, and splendour glows.
Oh! melody supreme, thy magic balm
Pours on the stormiest spirit, and 'tis calm!
How mighty is thine influence! Sweetest voice!
Thou bids us thrill, weep, tremble, or rejoice,
Or hope or fear, remember or forget,
Or nurse new schemes—or cling to old regret.
And still unhesitating, we obey,
And love the fulness of thy tyrant sway.
Scarcely I know myself, while thus my soul
Is under thy delectable controul:
Less wild and yet less weak that soul feels then,
My heart less sad; sing, Syren, sing again!
Scarcely I know myself beneath thy sway,
Sweetvoice!—thoughts—dreams of many a byegone day
In power rise up again within my mind:—
Dull clouds melt off, and thousand chains unwind!
'Tis that old feelings thrill me—that alas!
I am a stranger to the self I was!
That to be thus renewed, restored, appears—
To be e'en snatched to other worlds and spheres!—
To be another being, and to live
Another life,—still, still these raptures give!—
Oh! voice of music! still awake my soul
And bid its thoughts in softest echoes roll;
With thy rich tones, set this bruised spirit free,
Teach it thine own delicious harmony—
Oh! beatific voice—so shall it prove
Worthier at least to listen and to Love!