The Mask of the Red Death - Graham's Magazine, May 1842 — reading text

SC THE OLD WORLD. e. fo BY GEORGE LUNT. ei THERE was once a world and a brave old world, When trumpets roused this brave old world, Away in the ancient time, And banners flaunted wide, When the men were brave and the women fair, The knight bestrode the stalwart steed, an And the world was in its prime; And the page rode by his side. pr And the priest he had his book, And plumes and pennons tossing bright afl And the scholar had his gown, Dash’d through the wild mélée, Wi And the old knight stout, he walked about And he who prest amid them best of With his broadsword hanging down. Was lord of all, that day. thi Ye may see this world was a brave old world, And ladies fair, in the brave old world, In the days long past and gone, They ruled with wondrous sway ; an And the sun it shone, and the rain it rained, But the stoutest knight he was lord of right, of And the world went merrily on. As the strongest is to-day. fill The shepherd kept his sheep, The baron bold he kept his hold, vo And the milkmaid milked the kine, Her bower his bright ladye, TL And the serving-man was a sturdy loon But the forester kept the good greenwood, ou In a eap and doublet fine. All under the forest tree. an And I’ve been told in this brave old world, Oh, how they laugh’d in the brave old world, oth There were jolly times and free, And flung grim care away ! fro And they danced and sung, till the welkin rung, And when they were tired of working en All under the greenwood tree. They held it time to play. aff The sexton chimed his sweet sweet bells, The bookman was a reverend wight, ins And the huntsman blew his horn, With a studious face so pale, And the hunt went out, with a merry shout, dee And the curfew bell, with its sullen swell, Beneath the jovial morn. Broke duly on the gale. wh of | Oh, the golden days of the brave old world And so passed on, in the brave old world, vel Made hall and cottage shine; Those merry days and free ; dai The squire he sat in his oaken chair, The king drank wine and the clown drank ale, Sou And quaff’d the good red wine ; Each man in his degree. The lovely village maiden, And some ruled well and some ruled ill, She was the village queen, And thus passed on the time, the And, by the mass, tript through the grass With jolly ways in those brave old days To the May-pole on the green, When the world was in its prime. ous oul  THOUGHTS ON MUSIC. BY HENRY COOD WATSON. From whence does the Musician draw his inspira- mind; they nerve the arm, make firm the tread, and tiow? This question is often asked, but seldom cor- give an animated existence to slumbering ambition, rectly answered. Music, as a science, is but little or wavering courage. The soft toned flute, the plain- understood. The importance of its detail is not con- tive obeo, the mellow clarionette, with the other sidered, because its effects are not examined, by the various harmonious instruments, under the influence appreciating eye of knowledge. To common ob- of the creative mind, affect to smiles or tears, dis- servers, music possesses no feature worthy of con- course of love, or breathe of hate, according to the sideration, beyond an accidental succession of notes, shades of feeling pourtrayed by the composition. which gives a pleasing sensation to the ear, without But by what means is the imitation of these non- intention or design. Most persons believe that they tangible things, transferred to a medium, which is could write music, if they only knew their notes. not visible to the eye, nor distinguishable to the To “turn” a melody is the easiest thing in life, and touch? From whence does the musician draw, to all the adjuncts, harmony and instrumentation, are enable him to affect his hearers, by the means of merely mechanical parts of the art, which every one sound, with the*very feelings which he attempts to might learn. This is a popular and very gross error. imitate? We will proceed to answer these inquiries. EG TEE RET RI NU Music is either a simple succession of relative inter- The task of the poet is one of less difficulty, than ITIO TAR LS IE SPIER NS vals, which form a melody, or an aggregate of con- the task of the musician, for he treats of real or sonant or dissonant sounds, which produces a har- imaginary subjects, with the aid of a medium that is } mony. These two combined, form a vehicle for the universally understood and appreciated, according to expression of the passions of the human heart, more | | the various degrees, and powers of the peruser’s cman ranaanns anna in forcible and more truthful, than the noblest works of intellect. This medium is language. Words em- either the painter or the poet. body and define ideas ; a word can express a passion, It would require too much space, and would lead and other words can describe its rise and progress, me too far from my original subject, to enquire into, and follow it in all its secret channels, and through and to trace out, the means by which simple sounds, all its numerous ramifications. The power of lan- produced by vibration, percussion or detonation, guage is unbounded. Every thing that is, has a affect the mind ‘and imagination of the hearer.» It name, which name becomes associated with it in the will be sufficient to say, that the individual experience mind, and inseparable from it, always presenting of every one, will bear witness to the existence of to the mental vision the object that it represents. LT LAT SINE ARTE, this most powerful agency. The most subtle emotions of the human mind, feel- The music of a low sweet voice, how it penetrates ings which lie deep in the recesses of the heart, can and vibrates through the whole being! The music be torn from their lair, and displayed before the of the small birds, though limited in its scale, how it world by means of this mighty agent. Even nature fills up the measure of the imagination, by giving a with her ten thousand hoarded secrets, is over mas- voice