“I was, monsieur—but hark!—it comes again; listen to that voice!” They were all silent;
At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound
Rose, like a stream of rich distilled perfumes,
And stole upon the air, that even Silence
Was took ere she was ’ware, and wished she might
Deny her nature, and be never more
Still, to be so displaced.
MILTON.
In a few moments the voice died into air, and the instrument, which had been heard before, sounded in low symphony. St. Aubert now observed, that it produced a tone much more full and melodious than that of a guitar, and still more melancholy and soft than the lute. They continued to listen, but the sounds returned no more. “This is strange!” said St. Aubert, at length interrupting the silence. “Very strange!” said Emily. “It is so,” rejoined
