Volume 3 — Original Poetry.

Music, how strange her power! her varied strains Thrill with a magic spell the human heart. She wakens memory—brightens hope—the pains, The joys of being at her bidding start. Now to her trumpet-call the spirit leaps; Now to her brooding, tender tones it weeps. Sweet music! is she portion of that breath With which the worlds were born—on which they wheel? One of lost Eden's tones, eluding death, To make man what is best within him feel! Keep open his else sealed up depths of heart, And wake to active life the better part Of his mixed nature, being thus the tie That links us to our God, and draws us toward the sky!