And could not heave her head, Then cold and hot, and moist and dry, And Music's power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony, From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, What passion cannot music raise and quell? Less than a God, they thought, there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell, That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot music raise and quell? The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double, double, double beat Of the thundering drum Cries, "Hark! the foes come ! Charge, charge! 'tis too late to retreat." The soft, complaining flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers, Whose dirge is whispered by the warbling lute. Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs, and desperation, Depth of pains, and height of passion, But O, what. art can teach, Orpheus could lead the savage race; But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher: LESSON CLIII. The Sailor's Mother. SOUTHEY. Woman. SIR, for the love of God, some small relief Traveller. Whither are you bound? 'Tis a late hour to travel o'er these downs; No house for miles around us, and the way Dreary and wild. The evening wind already Woman. Ay, sir, 'Tis cutting keen! I smart at every breath: Traveller. Nay, nay, cheer up! a little food and rest Woman. Sir, I am going To see my son at Plymouth, sadly hurt Traveller. He yet may live. But if the worse should chance, why, you must bear Be left to mourn his loss. Your grateful country, Remembers those who paid its price of blood, And with a noble charity relieves Woman. God reward them! God bless them! It will help me in my age. Traveller. Was he your only child? Woman. My only one, The stay and comfort of my widowhood! A dear good boy! When first he went to sea, If it be true that for a hurt like his There is no cure. Please God to spare his life, Traveller. Of this be sure: His hurts are looked to well; and the best help The land affords. as rightly is his due Ever at hand. How happened it he left you? Woman. No, sir: poor fellow ! - he was wise enough As any in the country. He was left And call his mother's name. We two were all; We bore up well. In the summer time I worked A comely lad, and wondrous well disposed. Traveller. But how came it He chose to be a sailor? Woman. You shall hear, sir. As he grew up, he used to watch the birds - In the corn, Or crush them with its weight, - or else a spring Swung on a bough. He made them cleverly; |