# The Female Prose Writers of America/Eliza L. Sproat/The Enchanted Lute

published in The Female Prose Writers of America
THE ENCHANTED LUTE.
Once, in the old days of the fairy dominion, two sisters sat beneath an ancient vine-entangled tree, which overhung an old stone fountain.
They were beautiful; but why should they hide their beauty in this lonely solitude?—yet not lonely, for Mira bore in her hand a marvellous talisman—an enchanted lute, whose lightest touch had power to waken the voices of a thousand unseen spirits, and reveal to mortal eye and ear the wonderful sealed mysteries of Nature. As yet, its power had never been challenged; but the sisters had been told, that if, at the dim solemn hour between the night and morning, they would venture to sit alone by the haunted fountain, ​they could find the key to its music; that they could then discover the master-tone which should rule their future destiny.
For a time they sat in awe; for, as the night-breeze swept over the instrument, they were oppressed with a strange sense of the surrounding invisible presence.
“Let us try the spell,” at length said Mira; “a little low sound is rising in my heart, which may be the key to our music.”
“Pause yet a moment,” whispered Ernesta, “oh! pause, my sister, and think that of all the great world’s harmony, the tone you choose this day must rule your life for ever.”
“I have no fear,” said Mira, touching the outer chord.
A deep harsh note arose from the instrument: the trees reared their heads towards the sky, and the night-winds raised their voices. The weak vines in their dreaming clasped the trees convulsively, and seemed striving to climb to their summits.
Mira saw gleaming eyes in the darkness, and heard the murmur of strife in the air: even the very grass-blades jostled each other, as they stood side by side.
“Ah!” said Mira, shuddering, “this is Ambition—this is not the master-tone which should rule the world.”
With a trembling hand she touched the second chord. A faint indefinite sound, neither music nor discord, played around the lute. The trees swung carelessly, and the vines loosed their hold; the clear waters stagnated; the air was filled with heavy vapour; and all the while there issued from the lute the dull monotonous tone of indolent Content. “That is not music,” said Mira indignantly.
“Once more, my sister,” said Ernesta; and again she tried the chords.
A flash like sunlight played through the darkness;—a sweet rich strain arose from the lute, and a richer, deeper, sweeter music faintly re-echoed the notes around. The waters smiled and murmured; the little flowers laid their cheeks against each other like happy sleeping children; each created thing responded to the all-pervading music of Love.
“This is the tone,” cried Mira enchanted;—“this is the one great master-key of existence: it is not to toil, nor to strive, nor ​to battle, that we are placed in this world of pleasure—it is only to live and to love.”
“Mira,” said her sister earnestly, “try them once again.”
“Not again,” said Mira; “I have found my life.”
“But I thought, when you touched the last sweet chord, that a note still sweeter fell upon my ear; try it, Mira!”
But Mira heard her not—her heart was filled with the music of love; she had chosen her lot, and over her the untried chords had power no more.
The hour had passed, and the Night Angel was departing. As he retired, he rolled away the soft dark mists in which he had tenderly enveloped the sleeping earth. The violets opened their eyes in time to catch a glimpse of the brighter eyes which all night long had watched their slumbers; the birds waked too, and looked out from their nests;—but the Night Angel stood with his finger on his lip, and all the world was silent.
Speeding through the dim air came the Angel of the Morning. With a pencil of flame he silently streaked the eastern sky, and fringed the clouds for the reception of the monarch.
The morning breezes grew uneasy in their hiding-places; the hushed waters trembled with eagerness; the flowers held their breath; the birds seemed bursting with long-pent melody;—but still, the Night Angel stood with his finger on his lip, and all the earth waited in silence.
Silence!
The Sun! the Sun! with a warm sudden kiss he greets the earth—the spell of the night is broken; all nature rises with a shout, and from a thousand thousand tongues bursts forth the imprisoned melody. How the trees wave their arms! how the singing waters glance and sparkle! how the forest gossips nod their heads to one another, and the busy happy breezes hurry to and fro with sweet gratulations borne from flower to flower! All motion—all happiness; every nook and corner of the great earth filled with life and love.
“Ernesta,” said her sister, “art thou still faithless? Does not ​this blessed morning teach thee that there is no one tone in earth or heaven so worthy to rule as Love?”
“Touch the lute once more,” said Ernesta; “only try once more.”
Again those sweet strains rose in the morning air, and again to the listening ear of Ernesta rose that faint clear echo-tone, so strange, so pure, so far surpassing music ever heard before by mortal ear, that her raptured sense could scarcely endure the excess of melody.
But Mira’s ears were filled with the music of the heart, and she could not hear these higher seraph strains.
“Now, Mira,” said Ernesta, “look around, and tell me truly what thou seest.”
“I see a beautiful, happy world, full of rich sunlight and flowers, and thronged with good, loving fairies roaming here and there, tending the sickening plants and supporting the delicate flower-buds; helping the young birds in their flight, and teaching all created things to live and to love. And what sees my sister Ernesta?”
“I see, between heaven and earth, God’s holy cherubim ascending and descending; searching out the weary fainting spirits throughout the world, and bearing to them balm from Paradise. I see them rising with the prayers of the afflicted, and returning with sweet answers fresh from Heaven. And sometimes I see a newly perfected, enfranchised soul, borne rejoicing by the angels to the Throne, to dwell for ever in the presence of the Fountain of Love transcendent. But, Mira, look up, and tell me what you see.”
“When I look up, I see nothing, because of the dazzling sunlight.”
“Ah! but through the sunlight I can see the stars! the clear stars, that ever shine and never weary. And hark! From high, above the stars, floats down the prancing echo-tone. ’Tis the voice of the angels with their harps—they answer my heaven-yearning lute! ’Tis the great master-tone which rules the universe—the music of the soul!”