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lirik lagu richard mitchley - robert browning - abt vogler

would that the structure brave, the manifold music i build
bidding my organ obey, calling its keys to their work
claiming each slave of the sound, at a touch, as when solomon willed
armies of angels that soar, legions of demons that lurk
man, brute, reptile, fly,—alien of end and of aim
adverse, each from the other heaven~high, h~ll~deep removed,—
should rush into sight at once as he named the ineffable name
and pile him a palace straight, to pleasure thе princess he loved!

would it might tarry likе his, the beautiful building of mine
this which my keys in a crowd pressed and importuned to raise!
ah, one and all, how they helped, would dispart now and now combine
zealous to hasten the work, heighten their master his praise!
and one would bury his brow with a blind plunge down to h~ll
burrow awhile and build, broad on the roots of things
then up again swim into sight, having based me my palace well
founded it, fearless of flame, flat on the nether springs

and another would mount and march, like the excellent minion he was
ay, another and yet another, one crowd but with many a crest
raising my rampired walls of gold as transparent as glass
eager to do and die, yield each his place to the rest:
for higher still and higher (as a runner tips with fire
when a great illumination surprises a festal night—
outlining round and round rome’s dome from sp~ce to spire)
up, the pinnacled glory reached, and the pride of my soul was in sight
in sight? not half! for it seemed, it was certain, to match man’s birth
nature in turn conceived, obeying an impulse as i;
and the emulous heaven yearned down, made effort to reach the earth
as the earth had done her best, in my passion, to scale the sky:
novel splendours burst forth, grew familiar and dwelt with mine
not a point nor peak but found and fixed its wandering star;
meteor~moons, b~lls of blaze: and they did not pale nor pine
for earth had attained to heaven, there was no more near nor far

nay more; for there wanted not who walked in the glare and glow
presences plain in the place; or, fresh from the protoplast
furnished for ages to come, when a kindlier wind should blow
lured now to begin and live, in a house to their liking at last;
or else the wonderful dead who have passed through the body and gone
but were back once more to breathe in an old world worth their new:
what never had been, was now; what was, as it shall be anon;
and what is,—shall i say, matched both? for i was made perfect too

all through my keys that gave their sounds to a wish of my soul
all through my soul that praised as its wish flowed visibly forth
all through music and me! for think, had i painted the whole
why, there it had stood, to see, nor the process so wonder~worth:
had i written the same, made verse—still, effect proceeds from cause
ye know why the forms are fair, ye hear how the tale is told;
it is all triumphant art, but art in obedience to laws
painter and poet are proud in the artist~list enrolled:—
but here is the finger of god, a flash of the will that can
existent behind all laws, that made them and, lo, they are!
and i know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man
that out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star
consider it well: each tone of our scale in itself is nought;
it is everywhere in the world—loud, soft, and all is said:
give it to me to use! i mix it with two in my thought:
and, there! ye have heard and seen: consider and bow the head!

well, it is gone at last, the palace of music i reared;
gone! and the good tears start, the praises that come too slow;
for one is assured at first, one scarce can say that he feared
that he even gave it a thought, the gone thing was to go
never to be again! but many more of the kind
as good, nay, better, perchance: is this your comfort to me?
to me, who must be saved because i cling with my mind
to the same, same self, same love, same god: ay, what was, shall be

therefore to whom turn i but to thee, the ineffable name?
builder and maker, thou, of houses not made with hands!
what, have fear of change from thee who art ever the same?
doubt that thy power can fill the heart that thy power expands?
there shall never be one lost good! what was, shall live as before;
the evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound;
what was good shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more;
on the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round
all we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist;
not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power
whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist
when eternity affirms the conception of an hour
the high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard
the passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky
are music sent up to god by the lover and the bard;
enough that he heard it once: we shall hear it by and by

and what is our failure here but a triumph’s evidence
for the fulness of the days? have we withered or agonized?
why else was the pause prolonged but that singing might issue thence?
why rushed the discords in, but that harmony should be prized?
sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear
each sufferer says his say, his scheme of the weal and woe:
but god has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear;
the rest may reason and welcome; ’tis we musicians know

well, it is earth with me; silence resumes her reign:
i will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce
give me the keys. i feel for the common chord again
sliding by semitones till i sink to the minor,—yes
and i blunt it into a ninth, and i stand on alien ground
surveying awhile the heights i rolled from into the deep;
which, hark, i have dared and done, for my resting~place is found
the c major of this life: so, now i will try to sleep

- lirik lagu richard mitchley

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