And, as these trembling fingers half in fear
Sweep o’er thy slumbering chords—lo! there up-springs
Strange spirit-music, tremulous and low
As half-breathed sigh—to fitful silence hushing
Those thrilling strains my unskilled fingers know
Not to control. But hush! again their gushing
Swells like loud battle-peal on fierce blasts rushing.
Night! o’er thy mountains, oh Gilboa! where
The mighty spear of Saul was rent in twain.
And haughty Israel’s curse was branded there—