One smile from thee would raise the dying head;
One tear of thine would melt the heart of stone;
One kiss, one kiss, would vivify the dead.
Near thee the hours like moments fleet away;
Absent, they linger heavy on the view:
In life, in death, oh, let me with thee stay!
Oh thou most beautiful, most good, most true!
The voice was rich and mellow, with all the cultivation which the art of Italy could at that time bestow. There was no effort, there was nothing forced; every note seemed as much a part of the expression of the thought as the words in which it was clothed. But there was a fire, a warmth, an enthusiasm in the singer, which gave full depth and power to the whole. It was impossible to see him and to hear him without forgetting that he was singing a song composed probably long before, and without believing that he was giving voice, in the only way his feelings would permit, to the sensations of the moment.
Annie Walton knew not why, but her heart beat quickly as she sat and listened; the long black eyelashes of her beautiful eyes remained sunk towards the ground, and her fair cheek became pale as marble. She would fain have looked up when the song was done--she would fain have thanked the cavalier, and expressed her admiration of his music, but she could do neither, and remained perfectly silent, while her brother remarked the emotion which she felt, and turned his eyes with a smile from her countenance to that of his friend.
But the earl, too, had fallen into thought, and with his hand leaning upon the mandolin, which he had suffered to drop by his knee till it reached the floor, seemed gazing upon the frets, as if the straight lines of ivory contained some matter of serious contemplation. Miss Walton coloured as she marked the silence, and looking suddenly up said one or two commonplace words, which at once betrayed an effort. They served, however, to renew the conversation again.