Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1846-01-01

sandro sing me song of thine own composing
He was at that moment thinking Of the rustic
seat in her fathers garden of vlolets breathing
to the moonlight, Of Dora's first bashlul confess
sion of love; and smiling with a happy con-
seriousness, he sought for the written voice of
that blissful hour. But he will not tell her
when is was composed, lest it should not say SO
much to her heart, as it does to his. He begins
by singing othes songs, which drawmg-room
misses love for their tinkiing sweetness. Dora
listens well pleased, and sometimes says, That
is pretty, Alessandro; play it again But now
comes the voice Of melting, mingling souls
That melody, so like sunshine, and rainbows, and
bird w|arbling, after a summer shower, with rain
drops from the guitar at intervals, and all subsi-
ding into b@lissful, dreamy moonlight, Dora
leans forward, gazing earnestly in his face, and
with beaming fearful eyes, eXclaims, oh, that
is very beautiful! That is my tune yes, it
is indeed thy tune replied the happy husband;
and when she heard its history, she knew why it
had seemed SO like echoes Of her own deepest
heart.
Time has passed, and AIessandro sits by
Dora's bedside, their eyes looking into each
others through happy tears. Their love is
crowned with life's deepest, purest Joy, its most
heavenly emotion. Their united lives have re-
appeared in new existence; they feel that with
out this experience the human heart can never
know one half its wealth Of love. Long sat
the father in that happy stiffness, and wist not
that angels near by smiled when he touched the
soft down Of the infants arm, or twined its little
finger over his, and looked his joyful tenderness
into the mothers eyes. The tear-dew glistened
on those long dark ftinges, when lie took up his
guitar and played his beloved tune. He had
spoken no word to his child. These tones were
the first sounds with which he had welcomed her
into the world.
A few months glided away, and the little
Fioretta knows the tune for herself She claps
her hands and crows at the sight Of the guitar,
and all changing emotions show themselves in
her dark melancholy eyes and on her little trcm.
uIous lips. Play not too sadly, thou fond musi-
clan, for this little soul is a potion Of thine own
sensitive being, more delicateIy tuned. All, sec
now the grieycd lip, and the eyes swimming in
tears, Change, change to gaycr measure!
for the little heart is swelling too big for its bo-
som. There now she laughs and crows again
Yet ~plaintive music is her choice, and especially
the beloved tune. AS soon as she can toddle
across the room, she welcomes papa with a shout
and runs to bring the guitar, which mother must
help her carry, lest she break it in her zeal. II
father mischieyously tries other tunes than her
%favorites, she shakes her little curly head, and
trots her feet impatientIy. But when he touches
the first notes he ever played to her, she smiles
and listens seriously, as if she heard her own
being prophecied in music. As she grows older,
the little lady %eyincesa taste right royal; for she
must needs eat her supper to tie accompaniment
of sweet sounds. 1t is beautiful to see her in
her night-gown, seated demurely in her small
arm chair, one little naked foot unconsciously
beating time to the tune. But if the music
speaks too plaintiyeIy, the big tears roll silently
down, and the porringer of milk, all unheeded
pours its treasures on the floor. Then come
smothering kisses from the happy father and
mother, and love-claspings with her little sci
arms. As the three sit thus %intertwined, the
musician says pIayfuIIy, All, this is the perfect
chord!!'
Three years pass away, and the scene ia
changed. There is discord now where such
sweet harmony prevailed. The light of Dora's
eyes is dim with weeping, and Fioretta 'has
caught the trick of grief and sighs amid her
pIaythings.' Once, when she had waited long
for the beloved father, she ran to him with the
guitar, and he pushed her awoy, saying angriIy
Go to bed; why did your mother keep you up
so long? The sensitive little being, so easily
repulsed, went to her pillow in tears; and after
that, she no more ran to him with music in hel
hand, in her eye, and in her voice. flushed
now is the beloved tune. TO the unhappy wife
it seems d mockcry to ask for it; and A~lessan-
dro, seldom touches his guitar; he says he is
obliged to play enough for his bread, without
playing to his family at home. At the glee club
the bright wjae has tempted him, and he is
slowly burning heart and soul in the sepulchre Of
the body. is there no way to save this beautiful
son Of genius and feeling? Dora at first pleads
with him t%enderly; but made nervous with anx-
iety and sorrow, she at last speaks words that
would have seemed impossible to her when she
was SO happy, seated on the rustic char, in the
moonlighted garden; and then comes the sharp
sorrow, which a generous heart always feels when
it has so spoken to a cherished friend, In such
moments of contrition, memory turns with fond
sadness to the beloved tune. Fioretta whose
little fingers must stretch wide to reach an oc-
tave, is taught to play it on the piano, while
mother sings to her accompaniment, in their
lonely hours. After such seasons, a tenderer
reception always greets the hayward husband;
but his eyes, dulled by dissipation, no longer
perceive the delicate shadings of love in those