Staunton Spectator, And General Advertiser

POETRY.

MUSIC OF ST. PETERS, AT ROME.

BY MISS F. W. HALL.

At the moment the Host was elevated, the assembled thousands who thronged that spacious temple sank, as with one impulse, upon their knees, and every head was bowed to the dust. The scene was impressive as we looked around, and beheld blooming youth and decrepit age, the lowly peasant and half-clad beggar, princes, nobles, and the Sovereign Pontiff, bearing for a brief instant the semblance of equality, and adoring together that sublime mystery of the Romish faith. The clangor of arms and armor rang along the marble floor as the stern and mail-clad soldier fell, lower than all, in the attitude of silent adoration. The deep and death-like stillness which followed the universal prostration was broken by the sweetest, softest Music, which came stealing in low, rich, & exquisite strains, from a choir in a distant part of the building. It fell upon the ear like "cherub warblings," and cold, indeed, must that heart have been, which was not touched by its subduing melody. --

Lowly they bend, that countless throng,
In humble, voiceless prayer;
And waving plumes and glittering helms
Are bowed together there.
The high-born beauty meekly kneels
Upon the pavement cold,
And princely robes extended fall
In many an ample fold.
Incense from golden censers floats
Through that vast glorious pile;
And silence reigns unbroken deep,
O'er chapel, arch, and aisle.
Hush! Do ye hear that melody?
It cannot be of Earth;
For strains so ravishing as these
In Heaven alone have birth!
It steals along, low, sweet, and clear,
Our beating hearts are still'd,
As with one sudden burst of song
That spacious temple's fill'd,
And echoing dome and lofty arch
Prolong the strain divine;
Rome! Rome! no land beneath the sky
Hath music like to thine!