 | Sounds and Sweet Airs |  |
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Beethoven's “Sonata Appassionata.”
Inscribed to the Memory of Anton Rubinstein.
I.
Through night's vast voiceless gloom a Sibyl cries
To man's heart some apocalyptic word,
Which falters on her tongue; then wailing flies
Like an affrighted bird.
To man's heart some apocalyptic word,
Which falters on her tongue; then wailing flies
Like an affrighted bird.
Again she vainly strives; then desolate
With faltering voice flies wailing through the gloom,
While from the abyss of night reverberate
Menacing notes of doom.
With faltering voice flies wailing through the gloom,
While from the abyss of night reverberate
Menacing notes of doom.
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Yet back she comes once more; but not alone,
For from the secret mountain solitude
Where thought's rebellious thunders have their home
She calls the Titan brood.
For from the secret mountain solitude
Where thought's rebellious thunders have their home
She calls the Titan brood.
From earth to heaven they shout her prophecy,
While the fates laugh. Then all things listen mute:
With eager iterance flutter to the sky
Notes from a preluding flute.
While the fates laugh. Then all things listen mute:
With eager iterance flutter to the sky
Notes from a preluding flute.
Then from the awakened heart, on valorous wing,
A theme ardent as youth leaps joyously;
But in bold flight falls, as a wounded thing
Into a raging sea.
A theme ardent as youth leaps joyously;
But in bold flight falls, as a wounded thing
Into a raging sea.
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A Swan, a Royal Bark, it fights the waves
Of sudden storm. Wild voices throng the gale,
As in the rent clouds, while the vexed sea raves,
Contending spirits wail.
Of sudden storm. Wild voices throng the gale,
As in the rent clouds, while the vexed sea raves,
Contending spirits wail.
Voices of comfort, menace, or despair,
Answering the baffled theme, the Sibyl's cry,
Make, as they rise from ocean, earth, and air,
Tempestuous harmony.
Answering the baffled theme, the Sibyl's cry,
Make, as they rise from ocean, earth, and air,
Tempestuous harmony.
O Swan! O Sibyl! with what remorseless foes,
Fate and Life's mocking winds, do ye contend,
And the unfathomed sea whose waves are woes,
With what far God for friend?
Fate and Life's mocking winds, do ye contend,
And the unfathomed sea whose waves are woes,
With what far God for friend?
Fiercer the fight grows, louder shrieks the blast,
Long gusts of tempest, buffeting the Bark,
Drown the sad Sibyl's cry, and Hope aghast
Waits for the end. But hark!
Long gusts of tempest, buffeting the Bark,
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Waits for the end. But hark!
Unvanquished still that jubilant song is heard,
Triumphing o'er the furious waves—once more
Fitfully sounds the Sibyl's cryptic word,
Clear through the tempest's roar.
Triumphing o'er the furious waves—once more
Fitfully sounds the Sibyl's cryptic word,
Clear through the tempest's roar.
In vain! The Swan-song strives with wearier note,
The unwearied waves bay like the hounds of doom,
The staggering Ship, o'erwhelmed, scarce keeps afloat,
Foundering in the gloom.
The unwearied waves bay like the hounds of doom,
The staggering Ship, o'erwhelmed, scarce keeps afloat,
Foundering in the gloom.
The old fight is fought, the tragic hour is past,
Sung is the saga of him who fate defies,
Magnificently strives, and foiled at last,
Magnificently dies.
Sung is the saga of him who fate defies,
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Magnificently dies.
O dauntless theme, O Swan, O Royal Ship,
O passion of our hearts! what comes to thee
In that last agony in the tempest's grip—
Defeat, or victory?
O passion of our hearts! what comes to thee
In that last agony in the tempest's grip—
Defeat, or victory?
II.
Three chords, and all the world is listening,
Three chords, the hoary prophets of the key,
Their stern and solemn chant begin to sing,
Our hearts march to its tune, defying destiny.
Three chords, the hoary prophets of the key,
Their stern and solemn chant begin to sing,
Our hearts march to its tune, defying destiny.
Is it a dirge for some young hero dead,
Or a great hymn, hailing a god reborn
In a vexed age with doubts disquieted,
The dawn-song of a faith's new resurrection morn?
Or a great hymn, hailing a god reborn
In a vexed age with doubts disquieted,
The dawn-song of a faith's new resurrection morn?
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With the firm tread of a scarred veteran host
Retired from a disastrous field, but soon
Rallying to regain the vantage lost,
It marches calmly on—all hearts march to its tune.
Retired from a disastrous field, but soon
Rallying to regain the vantage lost,
It marches calmly on—all hearts march to its tune.
It is the martyr's hymn of seers who lead
The world's Hope Forlorn: the resolute ecstasy
Of men who trust the faith for which they bleed
Burns in it as it breathes grave challenge to the sky.
The world's Hope Forlorn: the resolute ecstasy
Of men who trust the faith for which they bleed
Burns in it as it breathes grave challenge to the sky.
With slow majestic pace, as when the sun,
Gone down in tempest, through the eastern gate
Unhurrying, tarrying not, his way has won,
And fills all heaven with light, it marches calm as fate.
Gone down in tempest, through the eastern gate
Unhurrying, tarrying not, his way has won,
And fills all heaven with light, it marches calm as fate.
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Then faster throbs the music's pulse; the tramp
Of the thin squadron falls with eagerer beat
As though, descried afar, the hostile camp
With a quick thought of onset fired the marching feet.
Of the thin squadron falls with eagerer beat
As though, descried afar, the hostile camp
With a quick thought of onset fired the marching feet.
And now young spirits of joy ensky the theme
In jubilant divisions as they sing,
Their pinions flaming in the dawn's first gleam:
News of a hope new-born to earth from heaven they bring.
In jubilant divisions as they sing,
Their pinions flaming in the dawn's first gleam:
News of a hope new-born to earth from heaven they bring.
Music, the day's bright voice, makes earth and air
Palpitate in the divine invincible glee
Of the glad choir's evangel, and despair
Crouches, a spectre dumb in that vast symphony,
Palpitate in the divine invincible glee
Of the glad choir's evangel, and despair
Crouches, a spectre dumb in that vast symphony,
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And ever more intense the sun's delight
Flames in the rapture of each golden tone,
Till the blithe spirits vanish in lingering flight,
And the stern martyr's hymn is heard on earth alone.
Flames in the rapture of each golden tone,
Till the blithe spirits vanish in lingering flight,
And the stern martyr's hymn is heard on earth alone.
A judgment trumpet for the souls of men
It seems, as now the solemn chords outring,
Ere seeking a full close, it sinks: and then
Discords, like sudden clash of swords encountering!
It seems, as now the solemn chords outring,
Ere seeking a full close, it sinks: and then
Discords, like sudden clash of swords encountering!
III.
And now, without a pause, inevitably
We are swept onward, breathless, borne afar
By the swift-rushing steeds of phantasy
To what strange land, vexed by what ghostly war?
We are swept onward, breathless, borne afar
By the swift-rushing steeds of phantasy
To what strange land, vexed by what ghostly war?
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New tempest swoops over the desolate waste,
Blurred by the twilight, trampled by the storm;
Gust follows gust with fierce relentless haste,
And all familiar things have changed their form.
Blurred by the twilight, trampled by the storm;
Gust follows gust with fierce relentless haste,
And all familiar things have changed their form.
Like a lithe wrestler, on the groaning earth
The insistent gale hurls all his tyrannous weight,
The new-born stars are smothered in their birth,
The wind's will overbears our souls like fate.
The insistent gale hurls all his tyrannous weight,
The new-born stars are smothered in their birth,
The wind's will overbears our souls like fate.
And through the gloom a voice comes fitfully,
In tones of anguish the rude gusts o'ercrow,
As of one worn with long calamity,
Pursued by some inexorable woe.
In tones of anguish the rude gusts o'ercrow,
As of one worn with long calamity,
Pursued by some inexorable woe.
A hero's heart might break in that lone cry,
Too weak to rally his lost comrades—dead,
Or scattered like the leaves compelled to fly
Before the conquering blasts discomfited.
Too weak to rally his lost comrades—dead,
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Before the conquering blasts discomfited.
In a stern mood this epic scroll was penned,
The voice faints like a warrior's dying moan;
The tragic tale speeds swiftly to its end,
The exulting storm raves o'er the waste alone.
The voice faints like a warrior's dying moan;
The tragic tale speeds swiftly to its end,
The exulting storm raves o'er the waste alone.
From what imperious fire, aching within,
Outleaped this glowing lava of the heart?
By what long penance did this wizard win
From the witch Life the secret of her art?
Outleaped this glowing lava of the heart?
By what long penance did this wizard win
From the witch Life the secret of her art?
Or did he boldly storm her palace gate,
And woo from her own hand her wand of power
Whereon the lightning's fiery shuttles wait,
Weaving a universe to mould a flower?
And woo from her own hand her wand of power
Whereon the lightning's fiery shuttles wait,
Weaving a universe to mould a flower?
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Ask, while the mighty music surges by,
Borne on the tempest's wing; from passion's deep
Summoning great visions to the inward eye,
And quickening thoughts that rouse the soul from sleep.
Borne on the tempest's wing; from passion's deep
Summoning great visions to the inward eye,
And quickening thoughts that rouse the soul from sleep.
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