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THE VOICE OF MUSIC.
Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound.
Childe Harold.
Whence is the might of thy master-spell?
Speak to me, voice of sweet sound, and tell!
How canst thou wake, by one gentle breath,
Passionate visions of love and death!
How callest thou back, with a note, a sigh,
Words and low tones from the days gone by—
A sunny glance, or a fond farewell?—
Speak to me, voice of sweet sound, and tell!
