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All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good, shall exist; Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor goed, nor

power

Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist

When eternity affirms the conception of an hour.

The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard, The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard; Enough that he heard it once: we shall hear it by-and-by.

And what is our failure here but a triumph's evidence For the fulness of the days? Have we withered or agonized?

Why else was the pause prolonged but that singing might issue thence?

Why rushed the discords in, but that harmony should be prized?

Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear,

Each sufferer says his say, his scheme of the weal and woe: But God has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear; The rest may reason and welcome: 't is we musicians know.

πάνθ ̓ ἃ βουλαῖς ἐλπίσι τ ̓ ἐπλάσαμεν

στροφή.

χρήστ ̓, ὀνείροις τ ̓, ἔσσεται, οὐ δοκέοντ ̓ ἀλλ ̓ αὐτά· κεδνὸν πᾶν

σθεναρόν τ' ἐρατόν τ',

οὗ γ ̓ ἅπαξ φωνὰ κελάδησε, μένει τοῖσι φωνήσασιν, εὖτε

κραίνει ἐφημερίων ὑπονοίας πλεῖστος αἰών.

ὑψίφρον εἴ τι λίαν, εἰ θέσκελον φάνη βροτοῖς,

εἰ δ ̓ ἔρως τις γᾶν προλείπων πλάζετ ̓ ἐπ ̓ αἰθέρ ̓, ἔπεμψε θεῷ τοῦτ ̓ ἐραστὴς φθέγμ ̓ ἀοιδός τ'· εἰ δ ̓ ἅπαξ ᾔσθετο

θεός, ἀκούοιμέν κ ̓ ἔτ ̓ ἄνδρες.

εἰ δὲ νῦν ἐσφάλμεθ', ἐπαγγελία

ἀντιστροφή.

τοῦτο νίκας ἄμασι σὺν τελέοις. ἠθλήσαμέν που πολλὰ μαραι

νόμενοι·

ἀλλ ̓ ἀναύδου μῆνες ἀμαχανίας πῶς οὐχ ὕμνους μέλλουσι τίκτειν,

καὶ πόθον ἁρμονίας ἐπιβᾶσαι πλημμέλειαι;

δύσφορός ἐστιν ἀνία δύσλυτόν τε τἀσαφές·

πᾶς δέ τις τό τ' εὖ ῥυθμίζων καὶ τὸ κακὸν λαλέει νοσέων· ἔστι δ ̓ οἷς φράζει δι ̓ ὠτὸς Ζεύς· σκοπεῖθ ̓, ἕτεροι·

φαμὲν ἐπίστασθαι μελῳδοί.

Well, it is earth with me; silence resumes her reign:
I will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce.
Give me the keys. I feel for the common chord again,

Sliding by semitones, till I sink to the minor,—yes,
And I blunt it into a ninth, and I stand on alien ground,

Surveying awhile the heights I rolled from into the deep; Which, hark, I have dared and done, for my resting-place is found,

The C Major of this life: so, now I will try to sleep.

BROWNING.

εἶεν· ἐξάλλαξα πάλιν χθαμαλὸς σιγὰν βρέμοντος οὐρανοῦ· ἐπῳδός. τλάσομαι ὑψιφρόνως. χορδῶν, φέρ', ὄρσαις ἀρχέτυπον κέλαδον,

βαθμίσιν φωνῶν πολυξέστοισι καθιέμενος,

κλίνομαι εἰς ἀμβλύν τιν ̓ ἄχον, τοῦ πρὶν ἐκβὰς τέρμ'· ἄγαμαι

δὲ τέως

ὕμνων κορυφὰς ἄλ ̓ ὅθεν κατενέχθην εἰς ἄπειρον·

ἀμπνέω δὴ τλὰς τόδ ̓ ἔρδειν· πλᾶξα μέσαν,

ἐλπίδων κρηπίδα βροτοῖς βιότου· νῦν δ ̓ ὕπνον γένοιτ' ἰαύειν.

TITHONUS.

THE Woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many a summer dies the swan.

Me only cruel immortality

Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms,

Here at the quiet limit of the world,

A white-hair'd shadow roaming like a dream
The ever silent spaces of the East,

Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.

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