VII. DANCE-MUSIC

Now let the sleep-tune blend with the play-tune,

Weaving the mystical spell of the dance;

Lighten the deep tune, soften the gay tune,

Mingle a tempo that turns in a trance.

Half of it sighing, half of it smiling,

Smoothly it swings, with a triplicate beat;

Calling, replying, yearning, beguiling,

Wooing the heart and bewitching the feet.

Every drop of blood

Rises with the flood,

Rocking on the waves of the strain;

Youth and beauty glide

Turning with the tide —

Music making one out of twain,

Bearing them away, and away, and away,

Like a tone and its terce —

Till the chord dissolves, and the dancers stay,

And reverse.

Violins leading, take up the measure,

Turn with the tune again,— clarinets clear

Answer their pleading,— harps full of pleasure

Sprinkle their silver like light on the mere.

Semiquaver notes,

Merry little motes,

Tangled in the haze

Of the lamp's golden rays,

Quiver everywhere

In the air,

Like a spray,—

Till the fuller stream of the might of the tune,

Gliding like a dream in the light of the moon,

Bears them all away, and away, and away,

Floating in the trance of the dance.

Then begins a measure stately,

Languid, slow, serene;

All the dancers move sedately,

Stepping leisurely and straitly,

With a courtly mien;

Crossing hands and changing places,

Bowing low between,

While the minuet inlaces

Waving arms and woven paces,—

Glittering damaskeen.

Where is she whose form is folden

In its royal sheen?

From our longing eyes withholden

By her mystic girdle golden,

Beauty sought but never seen,

Music walks the maze, a queen.