There, in a voice which yet held the cadences of the boy chorister of long ago, he sang the national hymn, and so, his hands drooping on the keys, he was carried gently to his bed and to his peaceful death. This was in May, 1809. Francis Joseph Haydn, born in 1732, died in his seventy-eighth year.
As I told you, his great work was to reform and partially reconstruct instrumental music. He followed in the wake of Bach. To him we owe the symphony as we have it to-day, and with this little sketch of the dear master I want to tell you what a symphony is.
Properly speaking, a symphony is a long and elaborate composition for a full orchestra. It contains various movements,[1] and any number of instruments may be employed in its execution. Voices are also occasionally added. The movements of a symphony are the allegro, the andante or adagio, minuet or scherzo, and the allegro or presto. To the first movement are two themes or subjects (we might say ideas), and these are given in two different keys. The andante movement is usually in some key related to the original key. When you study thorough-bass, you will find what beautiful effects this arrangement can produce. It would be an excellent little study to take one of the simplest symphonies of "Papa Haydn," and read it carefully—four hands are better than two. Study the first movement. See how the theme is worked out, back and forth, up and down; find out when and how it all returns to the original key, and then observe how the theme is carried on throughout the whole work. Above all, remember that the perfection to which the symphony has been brought we owe first to Haydn, then to Mozart, and finally to Beethoven.
[THE BUTTERFLY'S FUNERAL.]
BY MARY A. BARR.
All July and August, so glad and so gay,
The Butterfly's feasts they were crowded each day;
But alas for all pleasures, the summer's at end,
And the guests of the banquets now mourn for their friend.
Poor Butterfly's dead.
The Emmets and Flies will no longer advance
To join with their wings in the Grasshopper's dance,
For see his fine form o'er the favorite bend,
The Grasshopper mourns for the loss of his friend.
Poor Butterfly's dead.
And hark to the funeral song of the Bee,
And the Beetle who follows as solemn as he;
And see where so mournful the green rushes wave,
The Mole is preparing the Butterfly's grave.
Poor Butterfly's dead.
The Dormouse he came and stood cold and forlorn,
And the Gnat he wound slowly his shrill little horn,
And the Moth, being grieved at the loss of a sister,
Bent over her body and silently kissed her.
Poor Butterfly's dead.
The corpse was embalmed at the set of the sun,
And inclosed in a case which the Silk-worm had spun;
By the help of the Hornet the coffin was laid
On a bier out of myrtle and jessamine made.
Poor Butterfly's dead.
In dozens and scores came the Grasshoppers all,
And six of their number supported the pall;
And the Spider came too, in his mourning so black,
But the fire of the Glow-worm soon frightened him back
From Butterfly dead.
The Grub left his nutshell to join in the throng,
And solemnly led the sad Book-worm along,
Who wept his poor neighbor's unfortunate doom,
And wrote these few lines to be placed on the tomb
Of Butterfly dead:
"To the Butterfly Maid.
"At this solemn spot where the green rushes wave
Is buried fair Butterfly deep in the grave;
A friend unto all, she has run her short race:
Like a flower on wings with its beauty and grace
Was this Butterfly Maid."