"
But the truth is, having written the Poem with the sole view of serving a
Benefit, I thought that an unintelligible word of this kind would not be
without its attraction for the multitude, with whom, "If 'tis not sense,
at least 'tis Greek." To some of my readers, however, it may not be
superfluous to say, that by "Melologue," I mean that mixture of recitation
of music, which is frequently adopted in the performance of Collins's Ode
on the Passions, and of which the most striking example I can remember is
the prophetic speech of Joad in the Athalie of Racine.
T.M.
MELOLOGUE
A SHORT STRAIN OF MUSIC FROM THE ORCHESTRA.
_There_ breathes a language known and felt
Far as the pure air spreads its living zone;
Wherever rage can rouse, or pity melt,
That 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 lonely lay,
Not worlds could keep her from his arms away,[1]
To the bleak climes of polar night,
Where blithe, beneath a sunless sky,
The Lapland lover bids his reindeer fly,
And sings along the lengthening waste of snow,
Gayly as if the blessed light
Of vernal Phoebus burned upon his brow;
Oh Music! thy celestial claim
Is still resistless, still the same;
And, faithful as the mighty sea
To the pale star that o'er its realm presides,
The spell-bound tides
Of human passion rise and fall for thee!
[1] "A certain Spaniard, one night late, met an Indian woman in the
streets of Cozco, and would have taken her to his home, but she cried out,
'For God's sake, Sir, let me go; for that pipe, which you hear in yonder
tower, calls me with great passion, and I cannot refuse the summons; for
love constrains me to go, that I may be his wife, and he my
husband.
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