The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 22, Pages 325-326
MOZART’S REQUIEM.*[1]
"Of its own beauty is the mind diseased,
And fevers into false creation."Childe Harold.
A Requiem!—and for whom?
For Beauty in her bloom?
For Valour fall'n?—a broken Rose or Sword?
A dirge for King or Chief,
With pomp of stately grief,
Banner, and torch, and waving plume deplored?
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* A short time before the death of Mozart, a stranger of remarkable appearance, and dressed in deep mourning, called at his house, and requested him to compose a requiem, in his best style, for the funeral of a person of distinction. The sensitive imagination of the composer (who was at the time out of health) immediately seized upon the idea that this was an omen of his own decease, and that the requiem would be for himself. The nervous excitement under which he laboured to complete the task, produced the effect of realizing this impression, and the music was actually performed at his interment.
