The Ladies' Garland

In summer evenings, after the labours of the day, at sunset, through the village they wage with a sweet serenade, music so alluring. It was at that hour when the moon, just emerged from behind the point of the mountain, south of the junction of the Potomac and Shenandoah, reflecting brightly and sweetly in the blue meeting waters below, but whose smiles ever and anon were obscured by the sluggish passing clouds, which occasionally formed an arch from the opposite points, as if to cast a veil over her diminished majesty. A full, rich sound of the entire number of instruments which compose the band, unsealed the eyelids of the writer, to enjoy all the sweet inconsistency of feeling, which ever follows in the wake of music, when its "sweet call," unlocks the ear from deep sleep, now raising the thoughts to the throne of "Jehovah, Lord of all," and by a change of sound, as suddenly bringing them down to the quick march of time; producing that indefinable tumult of emotion, which the power of music can alone excite, crowding the avenues that lead to the sanctum sanctorum of the heart, with the reminiscences of all that we ever loved and lost; giving birth to the
"Sigh which speaks regret.
Yet scarce seems conscious of its pain.
That tells of bliss remembered yet,
Of bliss, that ne'er must wake again."