Music
Now Music feedeth on the silent air,—
Like Ocean, who upon the moonlight shores
Of lone Sigæum, steals with murmuring noise,—
Devouring the bright sands and purple slopes,
And so, content, retires:—Yet music leaves
Her soul upon the silence, and our hearts
Hear, and for ever hoard those golden sounds,
And reproduce them sweet in after hours.
O . There is a gloomy prophet at my ear:
He whispers,—sad and low.
F . Tush! Shake him off.
The shadow that each ill sends forward, ever
Is larger than the ill. When that the thing
You dread comes near, and you can measure it,
Then ruffle up thy Courage,—till it stands
'Tween thee and danger, like a champion!
Wait, till the peril come; then boldly look at 't.
Like Ocean, who upon the moonlight shores
Of lone Sigæum, steals with murmuring noise,—
Devouring the bright sands and purple slopes,
And so, content, retires:—Yet music leaves
Her soul upon the silence, and our hearts
Hear, and for ever hoard those golden sounds,
And reproduce them sweet in after hours.
O . There is a gloomy prophet at my ear:
He whispers,—sad and low.
F . Tush! Shake him off.
The shadow that each ill sends forward, ever
Is larger than the ill. When that the thing
You dread comes near, and you can measure it,
Then ruffle up thy Courage,—till it stands
'Tween thee and danger, like a champion!
Wait, till the peril come; then boldly look at 't.
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