MOZART by ZITELLA COCKE

As through the leafy close the crystal shine
Of streamlet purling on its way is seen,
Nor in its mazes down the clust'ring green
Of interlacing boughs and pendent vine,
Nor 'neath the shadows of the day's decline
Is hid, — so doth thy melody's bright sheen
Flash through close harmony's inwoven screen;
And well we call thy matchless strains divine!
Who lists shall live in Golden Age once more,
Shall catch the voice of sweet Arcadian lutes,
Behold, as erst, glad nymphs dance on the shore,
To tabor's sound and dithyrambic flutes,
Hear Philomel within the moonlit grove,
And tuneful shepherd piping to his love.

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