The Massachusetts spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1831-1858, 1831-11-09
From the New York Courier.

Ellis voice was very soft, gentle, and low."-
Lear.
"Thou oft soft low voice ."-BErs. HemGn,
Thou sweet musician that around my bed,
Dost nightly come and wind thy little horn,
BY what unseen and secret influence led,
Feed'st thou nv ear with music till It's morn
The wind-harps tones are not more soft than thine
The hum of falling waters not more sweet,
own, indeed own thy song divine.
And when next years warm summer nights We
meet,
(Till then farewell y promise thee to lie
a patient listener to thy minstrelsy.
Thou tinv minstrel, who bid thee discourse
Such eloquent music vast thy tuneful sire 7
Some old musician or did'st take a course
OF lessons from some master oil the Tyre!
Who bid thee twaGg sweetly thy small TRIUMPH
Did Norton form thy notes SO clear and full
Art a phrenologi3t. and is the bump
OF song developed on thy little skull
At Niblo's hast thou been when crowds stood mute
Drinking the brd-like tones of Cuddy's flute?
Tell me the burden of thy ceaseless song,
Is it thy evening hymn OF grateful prayer!
Or Law of love- thou pipest through the long
Still night With song dost thou drive away
dull care?
Art thou vieuX garcon, gay decelver,
wandering blade, roaming in search Of sweets
Pledging thy faith to every fond believer
Who thy advance with half way shyness meets 7
Or art O. the softer sex, and sings't in glee
'"In maiden meditation, fancy free
Thou little Siren, when the nymphs ofyore
Charmed with their songs till folks forgot to dine
And starved, though music-fed, upon their shore,
Their voices breathed no softer lays than thine;
They sang but to entice, and thou dost sing
As if to lul our senses TO repose,
That thou may'st unframed thy little sting
The very moment we begin to doze:
Thou worse than Siren, thirsty, fierce blood slipper
Thou living Vampire and thou Gallinipper.
Nature is full of music, swectly sings
The bard, land thou sing'st sweety too,)
Through the wide circuit Of created things,
Thou art the living proof the bards sing true.
Nature is full of thee On every shore,
Meath the hot sky of Congo's dusky child,
From warm Peru to icy Labrador,
The worlds free citizen thou roamest Wild
Wherever mountains rise or oceans roll"
Thy voice is heard, from Indus to the pole"
The incarnation of Queen Nab art thou,
And " Fancys midwife thou dost nightly sip
With amorous proboscis bending low
The honey dew from many lady's lip
Though that they straight kisses dreams"
On smiling faces and on eyes that weep,
Thou lightest, and oft with sympathetic snout"
"Ticklest mems noses they lie asleep"
And sometimes dwellest, if rightly scan,
"On the fore-fnger of an alderman"
Yet thou canst glory in a noble birth,
So dldst thou rise to life; the teeming earth,
The living water, and the fresh air gave
A portion of their elements to create
Thy little form, though beauty dwells not there
So lean and gaunt that economic fate
Meant thee to feed on music on air.
Our vein s pure juices were not made for thee,
Thou living, singing, singing atomy.
The hues Of dying sunset are most fair,
And twilghts tints just fading into night,
Most dusky soft and SO thy soft tones are
BY far the sweetest when thou tak'st thy flight.
The swans last note is sweetest, so is thine;
Sweet are the wind-harp's tones at distance heard
IT'S sweet in distance at the days decline,
To hear the opening song Of evening bird.
But notes of harp or bird at distance float
Less sweetly on the ear than thy last note
The autumn winds wailing; It's thy dirge;
Its leaves are scar, prophetic of thy doom.
Soon the cold rain will whelm thee, as the surge
Whelms the tost mariner in his weary tomb.
Then soar and sing thy little life away;
Albeit thy voice is somewhat husky now.
IT'S well to end in music lifes last day,
OF one SO geeful and SO bthe as thou.
For thou wilt soon live through its joyous hours,
And pass away with autumn's dying flowers.