Alexandria gazette & daily advertiser. [volume] (Alexandria [Va.]) 1817-1822, 1819-03-26
GAZETTE
AND *
.ileranaria Daily .adrertiser.
FRIDAY. MARCH 9s, 1919.
MELDLoGUE,

Thomas t.Oore, and spoken by Mrs barney ai
the Theatres in Washington and Alexandrfa--
Copied from British publication.
(srRAIs OF MUsIc)
THERE breathes the language known and felt,
Far as the pure air spreads its living zone;
Wherever rage can rouse or pity melt
Tha, language of the soul is felt and known.
From those meridian plains,
Where Oft of old, on some high tower
The soft Peruvian poured his midnight strains,
And called his distant love with such sweet power,
That when she heard the weIl-knowniay,
Not worlds could keep her from his arms away,
Te those black realms Of polar night,
Where the youth of Lapland's sky,
Bids his rapid reindeer fly,
And sings along the darkling waste Of snow,
As blight as il the blessed light
OF vernal Phebus burn'd upon his brow.
Oh music! thy celestial claim
Is stiIl resistless, still the same,
And faithful as the mighty sea
To the pale star that DER its realm presides,
The spell-bound tides
OF human passion rise and fall for thee.
(eREEI AIR.
List tbs Crecian maid that sings,
While from Ilyssus' silvery springs,
She draws the cool lymph in her graceful urn,
While by her side in music's charm dissolving,
Some patriot youth the glorious past revolving,
Deans Of bright days that never can return.
When Athens nused her olive bough
With hands by yrant power unclaimed,
And braided for the MUSES. brow
A wreath by tyrant touch unstained,
When heroes trod each classic 6eid,
Where coward feet now family falter,
And every arm was freedoms shield,
And every heart was freedoms altar.
(GREEK AIR, INTERRUPTED BY TRuaPET3
Hank It's the sound that charms
The war-steed's Weakening ears
Ol-many mother folds her arms
Round her boy soldier, when that sound she hears,
And the her fond heart sinks with fears,
Is proud TO feel his young pulse bound
With yaior's fever at the sound.
See from his native hills afar
The rude Helyetian flies to war,
Careless for what, for whom he fights,
For slave or despo:, wrongs or rights,
A conqueror oft, hero never,
Yet lavish Of his liie-blood still,
As if 'twere like his mountain rill,
And gushed for ever.
Oh music! here, even here,
Thy soul-felt charm asserts its wond'rous power
There is an air, which oft among the rocks
OF his own lov'd land, at evening hour [hocks:
Is heard, when shepherds homeward pipe their
Oh, every note of it would thrill his mind
With tenderest thoughts, and bring about his knees
The rosy children whom he left behind,
And ell each little angel eye
With speaking tears, that ask him, why
He wandered from his hut to scenes like these'
Vain, vain is then, the trumpets braysn roar,
Sweet notes of home, Of love, are all he hears;
And the stern eyes that looked for blood before,
Row melting mournful, lose themselves in tears.
(KENDs DE vAcHE INTERRUPTED BY A TRUMPET)
But wake the trumpet's blast again,
And rouse the ranks of warrior men.
oh war when truth thy arm employs,
And freedoms spirit guides the laboring storm,
Thy vengeance takes a hallowed form,
And Ike heavens lightning, sacredly destroys.
Nor music, thro' thy breathing sphere
Lives there sound more grateful to the ear
OF HIN who made AN harmony,
Than the blest sound of letters breaking,
And the first HYMN that man awahing
From slavery's slumber, breathes to liberty.
SPANISH PATRIOTS soNG.)
IIark from Spain, indignant Spain,
Bursts the bold enthusiast strain,
Like mornings music on the air,
And seems in every note to swear,
By Saragossa's ruined streets,
By brave Gerona's deathfth story, FAX
That while one Spaniard's life-blood beats,
That blood shall stain conqueror's glory.
SPANISH AIR coscLuDED.)
But all! il vain the patriot Spaniards' zeal
If neither valor's force, nor VISIONS lights,
Can break or melt the blood cemented seal
That shuts TO close the book of Emope's rights,
What song shall then in sadness tel,
OF broken pride, of prospects shaded,
OF buried hopes remembered well,
or ardor quenched, and honor faded;
What Muse shall mourn the faithful brave,
In sweetest dirge at memory's shrine;
What harp shall sigh DER freedoms grase'
Oh Erin! thine.
lxELAScHoLY IRISH AIR, spccEEDED BY
LIVELY oSE9
Rlest notes of mirth. We spring from sorrows lay,