When Music has reached her inward soul,
Like the silent stars that wink and listen
While Heaven's eternal melodies roll.
So hither I come
From my fairy home,
And if there's a magic in Music's strain,
I swear by the breath
Of that moonlight wreath
Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet again.
'Tis dawn--at least that earlier dawn
Whose glimpses are again withdrawn,[312]
As if the morn had waked, and then
Shut close her lids of light again.
And NOURMAHAL is up and trying
The wonders of her lute whose strings--
Oh, bliss!--now murmur like the sighing
From that ambrosial Spirit's wings.
And then her voice--'tis more than human--
Never till now had it been given
To lips of any mortal woman
To utter notes so fresh from heaven;
Sweet as the breath of angel sighs
When angel sighs are most divine.--
"Oh! let it last till night," she cries,
"And he is more than ever mine."
And hourly she renews the lay,
So fearful lest its heavenly sweetness
Should ere the evening fade away,--
For things so heavenly have such fleetness!
But far from fading it but grows
Richer, diviner as it flows;
Till rapt she dwells on every string
And pours again each sound along,
Like echo, lost and languishing,
In love with her own wondrous song.
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