The Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1837-1867, 1845-12-06
From the Columbian Magazine.
T he Beloved Tune.
FRAGMENTS OF LIFE IN SMALL. PICTURES
by L, MARIA CHILD


ny L. MARIA CHILD.
child, friend, wife, whose soft heart sings.
In unison with ours, breeding its future wings.
L. Hunt
In pleasant English garden a rustic chair Of
nlertwIsted boughs, are seated two happy human be
ings Beds of volets perfume the air, and the YER
dant hcdgc-rows stand sIeepily in the moonlight
a guitar lies on the greensward, but ia silent now
for all its hushed in the deep stiffness Of tho
That youthful pair are whispering their first acknowl
edgement Of mutual love- With them is now un.
folding lfe's best and brightest blossom so beautiful
and transient but leaving. passes into fruit,
fragrance thorough all the paths of memory.
And now The garden is alone in the moonlight
The rustic bench, and the Whispering foliage Of the
tree, tell each other tales of those still kisses those
gentle claspngs, and all the rervent language of the
heart But the young man has carried them away in
his soul; and as he sits alone at his chamber window
gazing in the mild face Of the moon, he feels as all
who love and arc beloved, that he is a better man.
and will henceforth be wiser and purer one The
words within and without are veied in TRANSPORTED
glory, and breathe together in perfect harmony. For
all these high aspirations hs deep tide of tenderness
this funess Of beauty, ihere bot uIterance the
yearning heart must overflow in music. Faint and
uncertain come rhe first tones Of the guitar breathing
as softly they responded 10 the mere touch of the
moon beams. But the rich manly vnics has d.
nIted with them, and clear spiritual melody flows
forth, paintive and imprisoned The modnlated breath
to ndwe'ing life and love. All the secrets of the
garden, secrets that painting and poetry had pow
er to reveal, have passed into my song.
At fret the Young musician scarcely noticed the
exceeding beauty Of tine air he was composing But
passage that came from the deepest of the heart
returned to the heart again, and filled it with its own
sweet echoes, lie lighted lamp and rapidly trans
ferred the sound to paper. Thus has he embodied
the floating of his SOUL and res brightest in
spiralinn cannot pass away with the moonlight and
the violet fragrance that yelled its birth.
But obstacles arise in the path of love. Dora's
father has aversion TO foreigners, and Alessandro
is of mingled Italian aud German percentage. lie
thinks Of worldly substance as shers are wont TO do;
and Alessnndro is SIMPLY leader of orchestra and
popular composer of guitar music. There is rich
err lover in question, and tho poor musician is sad
with hope deferred, though he leans trusfuy on Do
ra's true heart. lie labors diligently in his vocnt ion
gives lessons day by day, and listens with all patience
10 the learners trip hammer measurement of time,
while the soul within him yearns pour rouh in
foods Of improved melody. Ito composes music in
dustriously, too but it is Cor the Market and slowly
and reluctantly the offended tones take their places
per order. Not thus came they into that ms PRED
song, where love Grst breahed its bright but timid
joy the vanished doubts and fears. Fhe manu-
script of that melody is laid oway, and seldom can
the anxious lover hear its voice.
But two years of patient effort secures his PRICE
The loved one has co ne to his humble home with
Der bridal wreath Of jessamine and orange buds. lie
sits at the same window, and the shines
on him; bnt he is no longer alone. beautiful head
leans his Breast and loving voice says Dearest
Aessandyo, sing me a song of thine own composing.
lie that thinking of the rustic seat in her
fathers garden of vioets breathing the moonlight
of Dora -bashfu confession Of love; and smiling
with happy consciousness he sought for the written
voice OF that 'bssful hour. Bot he will not tell her
when it composed lest it should say much to
her heart, as it does to his. lie begins by singing
other songs, which drawing room misses love for
their tinking sweetness. Dora listens well pleased,
and sometimes says, "That is pretty, Alessandro,
play again.
But now comes the voice of melting, mingling
souls. That melody, like sunshine and raiubows,
and -warblng, after summer shower with rain
drops from the guitar at intervals, and all subsidng
into blssfu, dreamy moonlight Dora leans forward
gazing earnestly in his face and with beamng tenr-
ul eyes, exclams. sob, that is very beautiful! That
) my tune" eyes, it is indeed thy tune replied
he happy husband; and when she had heard its his.
DRY she knew why it had seemed so like the echoes
IF her own deepest heart