’Twas then she struck the keys, and music made
That mocked all skill her hand had e’er displayed:
Inspired and warbling, rapt from things around,
She looked the very Muse of magic sound,
Painting in sound the forms of joy and woe,
Until the mind’s eye saw them melt and glow.
Her closing strain composed and calm she played,
And sang no words to give its pathos aid;
But grief seemed lingering in its lengthened swell,
And like so many tears the trickling touches fell.