The Portsmouth inquirer. [volume] (Portsmouth, O. [Ohio]) 1849-1855, 1850-11-25

the moonlbeams. But now the rich man
4 ly voice has united with them, anda clea
spiritual melody flows forth, plaintivel,
and impassioned, the modulatcd breath 0
lindwelling life and love. All the secret
OF the gardens--secfets that poetry ant
lpalnting had no power to reveal--hay'
lpassed into song. .3...-s. ~
| AT first the young musician scarcely no
| tlcedthe exceeding beauty Of the air hi
| was composing. But q, passage iha
| came from the depth Of the heart. returned
Ito the heart again, and filled it with hi.
own sweet echoes. He lighted lamp
iaud rapidly transferred the sounds 10 pa
4 per. Thus has he embodied the fioatine
efencesof his SOUL. and lfe's brightest ih
SEPARATIONS cannot pass away with the vio-
lots fragrance that veiled its birth.
But obslacles arise in the path Of love,
Dora's fatherh has anaversion to foreigners,
land Allessandro is Of mingled Italian nnd
German parentage. He thinks of worldly
Substance, as fathers are want TO do; ant
IAlhssandro is simply leader Of an orches
ira, and composer Of popular guitar mu'
Isic There is richer lover in question,
land the poor musician is sad with hope
deferred; though he loarns ever tastefully
on Dora's true heart. . He labors dillgent
Ily inhis vacation, gives lessons day by
day, md listens with all patience to the
learners trp.hammer measurement Of
time while the soul within him yearns tc
pour Itself forth in floods Of impassioned
melody. He composes music industrious.
", too; but it is for the market, and slow.
ly and reluctantly the offended tones take
their place per order. Net thus come they
in that inspired song where love first
breatbed its bright but timid Joy, over
lvanquished doubts and fears. The manu.
script OF that melody is laid away, and sci.
dom can the anxious lover hear its voice.
/ But two years Of patient effort secured
| his prize. The loved one had come to his
Humble home, with her bridal wreathe Of
ljessamine and orange beds. He sits at
1.-THE same window, and the. same moon
Shines on him, but he is no longer alone.
| A beautiful hand leans on his breast, and
a loving voice says, "Dearest Allessandro
sing me a song oftaine own composing"
Tie was then thinking Of the rustic seat in
her fathers garden. of violets breathing tc
the moonlight, Of Dora's bashful first con.
Fession of love; and smiling with a happy
Consciousness, he sought for tho writer
voice of that blissful hour. But he will
not iell her when it was composed, lest i
should not say so much 10 her heart MS il
does to his. He begins by singing Other
songs, which drawing room misses love fol
their iinkling sweetness. Dora listens vel
pleased, and sometimes says, "That is
4 pretty, Allessandro; play il again" Bul
now came the voice of melting, mirglina
sou!s--that melody so like sunshine ant
rainbows. and birds warbling afera sum
mer shower-from the guitar at inter, als
and all subsiding 10 blissful, dreamy moon
| light. Dora leans forward, gazing earn
estly in his face-and beoming with tear
fol eyes, exclaims, "Oh, that is yer,
beautiful That is my tune." "Yes, il i.
indeed thy ,unc," replied the happy hus
band, and when she heard its history, sht
knew why it seemed so like echoes of hel
own deepest heart.
Time has pissed, and Allessandro sit.
lby DOra's bedside, their eyes looking int
each other through happy tears, Thei
love is crowned by life's deepest, pures
8 3ljQy-its most heavenly emotion. Theil
united liyesre. appear in new existence
and they leol that without this rich expert
ence, tho human heart can. never know
one half its wealth of love. Long sat tn,
father in that happy stiffness, and wis'
not that angels near by smiled when h,
= touched the soft down oftho infants arm
q or twincd its little 6ngor over his an,
5 looked his joyous tenderness into the moth
er's eyes. The tear dew glistened OF
these long. dark fringes, when he took u
his guitar AMI played the beloved tune.--
He had spoken no word TO his child.-
/, These tones were the first sounds viii
which be welcomed her into the world. p
7 A fow'montlis glide away, and the littl
: Floretta knows the 9tune herself.-
She claps her hands and crows at tb
sight ofthe guitar; all changing emotion
show themselves in her dark meanchol,
4 eyes, and on her tremulous lips. Pln,
not TOO sadly, thou fond musician, for tbi