Or victory waft their lovers home.’
They accordingly assemble; various modes of beguiling the time are proposed and adopted,—all, of course, of a somewhat romantic kind, but singing is predominant, thus affording a fit opportunity of blending music with narrative. Hopes and fears are, as may be supposed, the themes most employed, and a slight episode now and then varies the subject. But what is yet published does not appear to proceed very far with the plan, or enable the reader to form any conjecture of the denouement: the story, in fact, admits of being protracted, and, doubtless, is intended to be proportioned in length to the demand for the volumes as they shall from time to time make their appearance.
The Farewell, beginning ‘The sky is bright,’ a trio for two trebles and a base, by Mr. Bishop, is easy and simple, and flows on agreeably in the key of F, which never changes.
One of the nymphs, who ‘to Leucadia late had been,’ now relates some of the griefs of the hapless Lesbian maid, in a song, also by Bishop, entitled ‘Sappho at her loom,’ in E major, which is set with care and ability. The air, which is gentle and sweet, reminds us of the popular melody, ‘Home.’ But our limited space hints the necessity of noticing these songs without stopping to show their connexion with the poem, suffice it therefore to say, that they are part and parcel of it, though each is complete, musically considered, in itself. And the words of every song are also printed with the rest of the letter-press, so that the poetry forms a perfect whole, even without any vocal aid.
‘Weeping for thee, my love;’ a slow air by Massamino, a name more new to us than the music, is rather to be admired for its introductory symphony than for its melody. The accentuation in this is sometimes faulty—‘—no rest in darkness’—‘whose—dreary tread’—and ‘this—ruined heart,’ evidently are all contrary to the intention of the poet. Immediately after the song we meet with a moral truth, which many can verify, enunciated by Mr. Moore in the following very poetical language:—
When thus the heart is in a vein
Of tender thought, the simplest strain
Can touch it with peculiar power;—
As when the air is warm, the scent
Of the most wild and rustic flower