The Voice of Music.
By MRS. HEMANS.
Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound."
Childe Harold.
Whence is the might of thy master-spell?
Speak to me, voice of sweet sound, and tell!
How canst thou wake, by one gentle breath,
Passionate visions of love and death!
How callest thou back, with a note, a sigh,
Words and low tones from the days gone by—
A sunny glance, or a fond farewell?—
Speak to me, Voice of sweet sound, and tell!
What is thy power, from the soul's deep spring
In sudden gushes the tears to bring;
Even 'midst the swells of thy festal glee,
Fountains of sorrow are stirred by thee!
Vain are those tears!—vain and fruitless all—
Showers that refresh not, yet still must fall;
For a purer bliss while the full heart burns,
For a brighter home while the Spirit yearns!
Something of mystery there surely dwells,
Waiting thy touch, in our bosom cells;
Something that finds not its answer here—
A chain to be clasped in another sphere,
