Ring out ye crystal spheres!
Once bless our human ears,
If ye have power to touch our senses so;
And let your silver chime
Move in melodious time;
And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow,
And with your ninefold harmony,
Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full voiced quire below,
In service high, and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstasies,
And bring all heaven before mine eyes.
Untwisting all the chains that tie the hidden
soul of harmony.
| author = Milton
| work = L'Allegro. L. 143.
4
As in an organ from one blast of wind
To many a row of pipes the soundboard breathes.
| author = Milton
| work = Paradise Lost.
| place = Bk. I. L. 708.
And in their motions harmony divine
So smoothes her charming tones, that God's own
ear
Listens delighted.
| author = Milton
| work = Paradise Lost.
| place = Bk. V. 620.
| seealso = (See also Bkowne)
| topic = Music
| page = 538
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Mettez, pour me jouer, vos flutes mieux d'accord.
If you want to play a trick on me, put your
flutes more in accord.
Moijere—L'Etourdi. Act I. 4.
La musique celeste.
The music of the spheres.
Montaigne. Bk. I. Ch. XXII.
| seealso = (See also Browne)
| topic = Music
| page = 538
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,
Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone;
I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,
And all the wild sweetness I wak'd was thy own.
Moore—Dear Harp of My Country. St. 2.
"This must be music," said he, "of the spears,
For I am cursed if each note of it doesn't run
through one!"
Moore—Fudge Family in Paris. Letter V. L.
.
| seealso = (See also Browne)
| topic = Music
| page = 538
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>The harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls,
As if that soul were fled.
Moore—Harp That Once.
If thou would'st have me sing and play
As once I play'd and sung,
First take this time-worn lute away,
And bring one freshly strung.
Moore—If Thou Would'st Have Me Sing and
Play.
And music too—dear music! that can touch
Beyond all else the soul that loves it much—
Now heard far off, so far as but to seem
Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream.
Moore—Lalla Rookh. The Veiled Prophet of
Khorassan.
'Tis believ'd that this harp which I wake now for
thee
Was a siren of old who sung under the sea.
Moore—Origin of the Harp.
She played upon her music-box a fancy air by
chance,
And straightway all her polka-dots began a lively
dance.
Peter Newell—Her Polka Dots.
Apes and ivory, skulls and roses, in junks of old
Hong-Kong,
Gliding over a sea of dreams to a haunted shore
of song.
Alfred Notes—Apes and Ivory.
There's a barrel-organ carolling across a golden
street
In the city as the sun sinks low;
And the music's not immortal; but the world has
made it sweet
And fulfilled it with the sunset glow.
Alfred Noyes—Barrd Organ.
Wagner's music is better than it sounds.
Bill Nye.
_,
We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Of whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
A. W. E. O'Shaughnesst—Music Makers.
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown
And three with a new song's measure
Can tramptea kingdom down.
A. W. E. O'Shaughnesst—Music" Makers.
How light the touches are that kiss
The music from the chords of life!
Coventry Patmore—By the Sea.
He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced,
As some vast river of unfailing source,
Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed,
And opened new fountains in the human heart.
Pollok—Course of Time. Bk. IV. L. 674.
Music resembles poetry: in each
Are nameless graces which no methods teach
And which a master-hand alone can reach.
| author = Pope
| work = Essay on Criticism. L. 143.
As some to Church repair,
Not for the doctrine, but the music there.
| author = Pope
| work = Essay on Criticism. L. 343.
