O Music! How It Grieves Me That

There Are Proud Men Of So Much Delicacy That It Almost Conceals Their Pride, And Perfectly Excuses It.

It Is Easy To Look Down On Others; To Look Down On Ourselves Is The Difficulty.

True Wit, To Every Man, Is That Which Falls On Another.

Other Offences, Even The Greatest, Are The Violation Of One Law: Despotism Is The Violation Of All.

Many Love Music But For Music's Sake, Many Because Her Touches Can Awake Thoughts That Repose Within The Breast Half-dead, And Rise To Follow Where She Loves To Lead. What Various Feelings Come From Days Gone By! What Tears From Far-off Sources Dim The Eye! Few, When Light Fingers With Sweet Voices Play, And Melodies Swell, Pause, And Melt Away, Mind How At Every Touch, At Every Tone, A Spark Of Life Hath Glistened And Hath Gone.