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Jacques Offenbach.

DIED IN PARIS, OCTOBER, 1880.
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Lightly lie the turf upon him! Muse of Music be possessed,
He of melody was master, let us sing him to his rest.
Friend of long ago remembered! you were girl and I was boy,
When he took our hearts to Paris, and he sung to us of Troy,

Tell him—Dites Lui, remember—    we recall the storm and stress Of the nights Napoleonic, and    the jewelled Grande Duchesse We behold as in a vista, art su-    preme and fancy free Struck to song by golden    Schneider and to wit by    quaint Dupuis! Classic days of merry music on    the memory remain. With Eurydice, and Orpheus,    with John Styx, and Belle Hélène. Gods in high Olympus revelled    on the mimic stage in France, When King Jove let loose his    thunder, and Queen Juno led the dance. Magic charm was yours, my    master, for we tripped at your    command. Through the dreamy valse, the    galop, and the maddened sara-    band.

Evöe! cried jovial Bacchus, little Cupid loosed his bow,
In the Paris of the empire, in the days of long ago.

Ah! my merry Gipsy maiden, Périchole with Spanish eyes,
Sing your letter song; then take us to the tender "Bridge of Sighs,"
Where romance was set to music; ah! but sweeter let it flow
Chanson matchless of De Musset! song of young Fortunio!
With a répertoire exhaustless, classic fable, follym fun,
Cruel Thanatos gave signal, and the overture was done—
Still he won in competition, but his equal where and when?
For his life's success was Paris—yes, La Vie Parisienne!

Drape the orchestra in mourning, wreathe the violin and bow,
Leave the bâton where he placed it—'tis the final beat, you know;
Gather up the parts, 'tis over, come, dismiss the band you can,
Death is now the Tambour Major, and the rolls his rataplan.
Stop the dancing for a moment, take your partner to the stairs,
And together, in a dreamland, hear his operatic airs.
Mirth has ended! and a spirit full of melody has fled
To a land of sweeter music—merry Offenbach is dead!