MEMORIES OF AN OLD PIANO.
AH! my friends, you see me here,
Standing in a corner drear,
In the prison of my case;
You stop and gaze upon my face.
Standing in a corner drear,
In the prison of my case;
You stop and gaze upon my face.
Some pitying look, some scornfully,
Some pass without a glance at me;
Are there among you those to-day
Who have listened to Beethoven play?
Some pass without a glance at me;
Are there among you those to-day
Who have listened to Beethoven play?
While I my soul have felt expand
Beneath the touch of the Master's hand;
To you could I tell of tales which thrilled,
Were not my voice forever stilled!
Beneath the touch of the Master's hand;
To you could I tell of tales which thrilled,
Were not my voice forever stilled!
In the salon of a Viennese
For years did I stand in light and ease,
While the Master struggled, alone and poor,
Till Fortune paused before his door.
For years did I stand in light and ease,
While the Master struggled, alone and poor,
Till Fortune paused before his door.
And one night the great musician
Led, as though by intuition,
To the house in which I stood,
To the villa near the wood.
Led, as though by intuition,
To the house in which I stood,
To the villa near the wood.
