Page:Extract from the Literary Gazette 1822 Supplement.pdf/4



Oh yes, the sounds were sweet as those That die away at Evening's close, And gentle as the tones that fall From waters wildly musical. But Music is not dear to me, It wakes too much of memory; There is a spell in Music's sigh That breathes too much of days gone by. The silver tone, the sweet voiced shell, To me are sad as the farewell Of parting lovers: Music wakes The wildest throbs, and Music takes Each shape of fancy; but it brings To me the shades of lovely things Past, and for ever,–hopes deferred, Or, like the song of the spring bird, Dying when sweetest. Music's sigh First taught me love's idolatry, Waked my young heart to find (too late) It might be left all desolate; To curse the dream-like life before, To love the once loved song no more; To know, hope, genius, spirit fled, Soul-sickness, feeling withered!– Rather be mine the heartless smile, A flower on the lava; while Beneath is flame and barrenness The colours do not glow the less. I bade my heart once be my world, And dreamed it could; but I was hurled From my enchanted pinnacle Of hope, of joy, of trust, to dwell Mid those stern truths which chilled that heart, And bade youth's fairy lights depart. And Music has to me a tone Sacred to thoughts, to feelings gone, When love was faith, or ere I knew Its altar frail, its sigh untrue— That it was like the hues that spring Upon the rainbow's wandering. But now those feelings cannot be, Their echo is too sad for me; For what can Music breathe me now?– The blighted hope, the broken vow!