“Yes, we have,” agreed Tom. “But, Patty, won’t you sing something alone?”
“Do,” chorused the rest, and Mabel said: “Sing that newest song that you and Sinclair made.”
“‘The Moon’s Song?’” asked Patty.
“Yes; this is just the night for it.”
The moon was nearing the western horizon, and its soft light fell across the lake in silver ripples. Truly it was just the time and place to sing the pretty song of which Patty had composed the words, and Sinclair had set them to music. It was a simple air, but full of soft, lingering cadences, and without accompaniment Patty’s really sweet voice sounded exquisite as it thrilled through the summer evening air.
The song was called “The Minstrel Moon,” and the words were these:
| “I wonder if the moon could sing, On a marvellous, mystical night in spring, I wonder what the song would be That the minstrel moon would sing to me. And as I think, I seem to know How the music of the moon would go. It would be a mystic, murmuring strain Like the falling of far-away fairy rain. Just a soft and silvery song That would swing and swirl along; Not a word Could be heard But a lingering ding-a-dong. Just a melody low and sweet, Just a harmony faint and fleet, Just a croon Of a tune Is the Music of the Moon.” |