A mighty indifferent
prelude succeeded the arrangement of the strings, then a sort of jig,
accented by the toe and head of the performer. Afterwards he broke into
a wild and singular extempore, which gradually shaped itself into
measure and rhythm, at times beautifully varied, and accompanied by the
voice. We shall attempt a more modern and intelligible version of the
sentiments he expressed:--
Song.
1.
"Rich round thy brow are the clusters bright,
And thy tresses are like the plume--
The plume of the raven, glossy with light,
Or the ray on the spirit's deep gloom.
2.
"As I gaze, the dim echoes of years that are past
Bring their joys to my bosom in vain;
For the chords, which their spell once o'er memory cast,
Ne'er shall waken to gladness again!"
"I hold these minstrels now no better than the croaking of your carrion
crow," said the elder lady: "these are not like the songs we used to
hear in hall and bower at Dunham Massey. Then "--the old lady forgetting
that her own ears had played her false, and her relish for these
dainties had departed--"Then," raising her voice and gazing round, as
past scenes recurred to her fancy, "how my young heart would leap at the
sound of their ditties! and how I long to hear again _'Sir Armoric'_ and
the '_Golden-Legend_,' and all about the lady with the swine's snout and
the silver trough!"
But Isabella heard not her mother's reminiscences.
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