“‘Death Dealer! Here I have thee once again!
I see thy fatal lightning flashing near,
As round me rise the spirits of the slain,
And the dark shadows, shudd’ring, disappear.
Who ever stood unscathed before thy path?
Who ever lived to babble of thy wrath?
Annihilation must thy deeds proclaim,
And conquest grant thy memory to fame!
“‘Fame Winner! Let me grasp thee firmer yet;
New fields are to be fought, new foes to dare;
I must have glory ere the sun hath set;
I yearn new triumphs, noble spoils to share.
See where th’ insulting enemy advance!
And as they come, with dark and scornful glance,
Waving thy brilliant steel I seek the fray,
And pierce the quiv’ring flesh that stops my way!’”
“By all that’s glorious, ’tis a noble strain!” exclaimed Oriel, while his brilliant eyes flashed with excitement; “a strain fit to stir the heart to noble deeds. I feel my soul thrilled with an heroic spirit that would do battle even with the fierce enemy—Death! Give me a fair field and a good cause—a band of warlike brothers moved by the same mighty impulse as that by which I am now excited—and let us have fit weapons and enough of them, and we would sweep the oppressors of the world from the earth, like rotten reeds before a whirlwind. Wisely did the ancients honour their bards above all human greatness. Well was it that they gave them precedence and dignity and wealth in abundance—the gold chain round the neck, and the seat of honour near the throne. If they possessed but the power you have evinced, they were worthy of the first place and the richest gifts: for they must have been the leading spirits of the age—the movers of armies—the winners of triumph. What nature, with the common energies of manhood, could resist such a stimulus? Stone walls, the crushing iron, and the penetrating steel—would these be as obstacles in its way? Straws! Had I lived in those days, the leader of a warlike generation, and heard a song such as you have sung, I should have felt inclined to have exalted the bard above my own dignity, knowing that his influence upon the dispositions over which I ruled could be rendered far more effective for the purposes that gave me supremacy, than my own.”
“I expected it would move you in some measure,” said Zabra, gazing with affectionate interest upon the flushed cheek of his patron.
“Move me! would a mælstrom move me?” cried the young merchant. “It seems to have stirred the sluggish blood in every hidden vein and artery. My brain throbs as if it would move up the scalp in which it is confined, and the pulsations of my heart appear to have acquired the action of a boiling torrent.”
“I am afraid I have done mischief,” observed the musician anxiously; “I did not count upon producing so violent an effect. Let me undo the evil I have created by singing to you some lyric of an opposite tendency.”
“Where got you this power?” asked his companion, fixing a searching glance upon the lustrous eyes before him. “By what means gained you the rare art which you practise with such wondrous effect? Your’s is no common skill for the ignorant to admire; it is an influence which the most tutored in worldly wisdom must feel and worship. You never could have gained it while employed in the laborious idleness of a page. You are too young to have acquired it by study. What mystery is this you have gathered around you which gives you such a mastery over the affections of your associates?”
A slight tremor passed over the graceful form of the young musician: his eyes shrunk before the earnest gaze of Oriel Porphyry, and, shaded by their long dark lashes, were fixed upon the floor.
“I will tell you;” said he at length. “Although great care was taken with my education, from a very early age I was left much to my own inclinations; and being gifted with an extraordinary love for knowledge, and a rare facility in its acquirement, and a powerful tendency towards that knowledge which was most ennobling, I rapidly obtained a degree of intelligence which was rarely found even in a more mature period of life. There were two particular objects of study to which I for years dedicated an intense degree of attention: these were music and poetry. Music was a source of the most exquisite gratification to me at all times, and I applied diligently to make myself master of all its difficulties. In this, after constant application, superintended by the best masters, I succeeded, so as to be able to create at pleasure any effect I was desirous of producing. In the study of poetry I had no teachers, excepting the only teacher capable of giving instruction—Nature. I went amid the stir of leaves in the heart of the primeval forest; I stood beneath the dazzling glances of the countless eyes of heaven; I looked down upon the waters of the great deep, till I knew how to interpret its mighty voices; and the whisper of the wind to the blushing flower became to me a lesson full of an exquisite and impressive eloquence. There was not a sound in the air—a light upon the skies—a splendour on the earth—or a motion in the sea, that did not assist me in my study; for there were beauty and truth and power; and these are the constituents of all natural poetry. But there was something still wanting to breathe the spirit of life into the new conceptions that had been created in my nature. This I found; and from that time there has been a gladness in what I knew, and a purpose in what I did. Now let me remove the too powerful impression I have produced, by something more in accordance with my own sympathies. You shall hear ‘The Poet’s Song to his Mistress.’”
A symphony, full of the most touching interest, preceded a melody so impassioned, yet so sweet in its expression, and harmonised in so rich and masterly a manner, that the young merchant had soon all his faculties engaged in deep and earnest attention.