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Updated: May 5, 2025
Across the silver shimmering of flutes; A bassoon grunted, and an oboe wailed; The 'celli pizzicato-ed like great lutes, And mutterings of double basses trailed Away to silence, while loud harp-strings hailed Their thin, bright colours down in such a scatter They lost themselves amid the general clatter. Frau Altgelt, in the gallery, alone, Felt lifted up into another world.
The scent of heliotrope enveloped him; she laughed her silver harp-strings laugh, and lifted her arms toward the dazzled young man. "It's the last dance," she said. "Don't you want to dance it with me?"
Wogan crossed the room towards the door; but before he reached it, the Countess of Berg suddenly took her fingers from her harp-strings with a gesture of annoyance. "Mr. Warner," she said, "will you do me the favour to screw this wire tighter?" And once or twice she struck it with her fingers. "May I claim that privilege?" said the Prince.
Priscilla's gayety, moreover, was of a nature that showed me how delicate an instrument she was, and what fragile harp-strings were her nerves. As they made sweet music at the airiest touch, it would require but a stronger one to burst them all asunder.
There was a thrill of new vitality throughout the city. I seemed to hear the sap rising in the trees along the boulevards. Or was it only the wind plucking at invisible harp-strings, or visible telephone wires, and playing the spring song in Parisian ears?
Diana's mind began to be in a great state of confusion, which presently concentred itself upon the one point of keeping a calm and unmoved exterior. And to her surprise, this became easy. The confusion subsided, like the vibrations of harp-strings which have been brushed by a harsh hand; only her heart beat a little, waiting for the coming encounter. "Shall I take you in to see the bride?" Mr.
Lucina knew her aunt Camilla was coming down the stairs by the rustling of her silk flounces along the rails of the banisters, like harp-strings; then there was a cumulative whisper and an entrance. Lucina rose, holding her doll like a dignified little mother, and dropped a courtesy. "Good-afternoon," said Aunt Camilla. "Good-afternoon," returned Lucina. "How do you do?" asked Aunt Camilla.
Soft moss on stone and rock; cave fern of tangled glen; wayside well perennial, patient, silent, clear, stealing through its square font of rough-hewn stone; ever thus deep, no more; which the winter wreck sullies not, the summer thirst wastes not, incapable of stain as of decline; where the fallen leaf floats undecayed, and the insect darts undefiling: cressed brook and ever-eddying river, lifted even in flood scarcely over its stepping stones, but through all sweet summer keeping tremulous music with harp-strings of dark water among the silver fingering of the pebbles.
Once, as her voice dropped, she looked up at Captain Gambier, so very archly, with the curving line of her bare throat, that Wilfrid was dragged down from his cynical observatory, and made to feel as a common man among them all. At the "thrum-thrum" on the harp-strings, which wound up the song, frenzied shouts were raised for a repetition.
Then the song grew sweeter, softer, mellower, till every eye was flowing; on and on, more lovely and imploring till one could only think that "The angels of Wind and of Fire Chant only one hymn, and expire With the song's irresistible stress; Expire in their rapture and wonder, As harp-strings are broken asunder By music they throb to express." The strains died away.
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