Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 23, 2025
True as the wave to Cynthia's ray, True as the vessel to the breeze, True as the soul to music's sway, Or music to Venetian seas: Soft as yon silver beams, that sleep Upon the ocean's trembling breast; So soft, so true, fond Love shall weep, So soft, so true, with THEE shall rest.
His spirit was with my mother in the dreams of the past, rather than the hopes of the future; and the memory of its joys lived again in music's heavenly breath. It is a blessed thing to be remembered in death as my mother was. Her image was enshrined in her husband's heart, in the bloom and freshness of unfaded youth, as he had last beheld her, and such it would ever remain.
The mere artificiality of music's vehicle separates it from life and makes its message untranslatable. Yet, as I have already pointed out, this very disability under which it labours is the secret of its extraordinary potency. Nothing intervenes between the musical work of art and the fibres of the sentient being it immediately thrills. We do not seek to say what music means. We feel the music.
The poem on the Omnipresence of the Deity commences with a description of the creation, in which we can find only one thought which has the least pretension to ingenuity, and that one thought is stolen from Dryden, and marred in the stealing: "Last, softly beautiful, as music's close, Angelic woman into being rose."
The ready herald by the King's command, Convened the Chiefs and Warriors of the land; And soon the banquet social glee restored, And China wine-cups glittered on the board; And cheerful song, and music's magic power, And sparkling wine, beguiled the festive hour. The dulcet draughts o'er Rustem's senses stole, And melting strains absorbed his softened soul.
Sweet is the breath of vernal shower, The bees' collected treasures sweet, Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet The still, small voice of gratitude. On the following day, the arrival of her friend revived the drooping Emily, and La Vallee became once more the scene of social kindness and of elegant hospitality.
It is what Mat King would call a "symblem," and as such requires the music's dying fall to lull and enervate a too meticulous and stringent tendency to recollect that it wasn't little, or old, or red, or on a hill.
She looked up at him as her fingers wandered to the final chord. His lips were set in a thin line, and he was breathing quickly. "Why did you sing that?" he asked. She blindly shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know why shouldn't I? The music's a good deal nicer than the words, I think. Don't you find the words are rather silly? They are of most songs, I think." "And you call that silly," he said.
The proud edifice partook, however, of the vicissitudes of the times, and Lord Byron, in one of his poems, represents it as alternately the scene of lordly wassailing and of civil war: "Hark, how the hall resounding to the strain, Shakes with the martial music's novel din! The heralds of a warrior's haughty reign, High crested banners wave thy walls within.
The Camoenae swell the strain With their song of ninefold tone: Captive bound in music's chain, Softly stone unites to stone. Cybele, with skilful hand, Open throws the wide-winged door; Locks and bolts by her are planned, Sure to last forevermore. Soon complete the wondrous halls By the gods' own hands are made, And the temple's glowing walls Stand in festal pomp arrayed.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking