" It is the story--a favorite one to the ears of our
forefathers two centuries ago--of the nightingale and the musician
contending with voice and instrument in alternate melodies, till the sweet
songstress of the grove falls and dies upon the lute of her rapt rival. It
is something more than a pretty tale. Ford, the dramatist, introduced it
briefly in happy lines in "The Lover's Melancholy," but Crashaw's verses
inspire the very sweetness and lingering pleasure of the contest. It is
high noon when the "sweet lute's master" seeks retirement from the heat,
"on the scene of a green plat, under protection of an oak," by the bank of
the Tiber. The "light-foot lady,"
"The sweet inhabitant of each glad tree,"
"entertains the music's soft report," which begins with a flying prelude,
to which the lady of the tree "carves out her dainty voice" with "quick
volumes of wild notes."
"His nimble hand's instinct then taught each string,
A cap'ring cheerfulness; and made them sing
To their own dance."
She
"Trails her plain ditty in one long-spun note
Through the sleek passage of her open throat:
A clear, unwrinkled song.
Pages:
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111