Mendelssohn’s “ Duetto ” by Moonlight. To-night the sea is sleeping, and the air Sleeps on its bosom. ’Tis the mild mid-June, And never saw I yet a scene more fair Beneath the shining of a summer moon, Or purer moonlight flood a purer sky, And never, sure, did ripples softlier shed Recurrent lengths of pearl and amethyst, Quiv’ring to flash and die, Along the margin of an ocean bed Whose stainless sands were worthier to be kissed. An hour ago, the burden of the days Bore on me, and my rebel heart was sad, Because the earth seemed all of thorny ways Whose labyrinth nor end nor meaning had. And evermore I heard the weary cry Of human nature, and the answering moan Of earth and sea : “ Whence are we ? Wherefore come ? ” And the old, sad reply : “ Out of the void, into the void,—alone, From the dead Past, into the Future dumb.” So, restless, ere the lighting of the lamp I left the threshold, and my outstretched palm Brushed from a jasmine-spray the odorous damp, And all my soul drank in the trancéd calm Of the high moon, and the wide, windless night. And under dreaming trees I crossed the turf To where, beneath their level browsing-line,— A thread of glimmering white,— I saw the ’broidered fringes of the surf Heave to the breathings of the slumbering brine. And now, to brim the measure of delight, A strain that from yon open casement floats Seems strangely pertinent to this sweet night. Yet well I know whose fingers wake the notes, And each full sequence of melodious tone In that duet of passionate hopes and fears, Where ’plaining love with love’s fond chiding wars, Divinest Mendelssohn ! Thy songs are only wordless to the ears Which never heard the voices of the stars. Oh, wearers of the ever-verdant bays ! Why have ye told us your delicious dreams To fret us, groping in these grimy ways, With airs from long-lost vales, and vanished streams, And pipings of departed Arcadies ? Or thou, whose touch the immortal marbles bear, Why didst thou set us, in a world like this,— Godlike Praxiteles !— Peerless ideals, stony shapes more fair Than ever thrilled beneath a lover’s kiss ? Oh for a breath of God’s omnipotence, To mould the world to this one perfect hour For ever ! and in this calm heaven’s immense, As in the folded petals of a flower, Enclose it. Nevermore should the chill morn Flash at réveillé upon haggard eyes, And waken misery to all its needs. Never, by mad winds torn, The billows of this lisping sea should rise To tear a helpless prey that gasps and bleeds. Still should the skies be cloudless, and the sight Trust the safe-guidance of a light like this, Serenely pitiful, unmindful quite If ugliness exists, or evil is, But rich in tender hint and sweet suggesting. And ever thus the charmèd earth should sleep, And each tired heart of all her seething throng, Its fevered pulse arresting, Beat as mine own does now,—content to keep Time to the rhythmic cadence of a song. Oh, foolish heart ! God sets His times and places, Like these thou art so loath to quit to-night, Not as abiding homes, but breathing-spaces Wherein anew to gird thee for the fight. Already falls a change on earth and ocean, The music ceases, and the awakening main Crisps its fresh billows to a breeze of dawn. In ever-circling motion The round moon sinks. Wherefore should I complain Who of His peace one full, deep breath have drawn ? Samuel Reid .