"The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear So charming left his voice, that he awhile Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed to hear."
It is remarkable that more pains are not taken with the voice in conversation as well as in singing, for
"What plea so tainted and corrupt But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil."
"The man that hath no Music in himself Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;" [8]
but there are some notable exceptions. Dr. Johnson had no love of music. On one occasion, hearing that a certain piece of music was very difficult, he expressed his regret that it was not impossible.
Poets, as might have been expected, have sung most sweetly in praise of song. They have, moreover, done so from the most opposite points of view.
"And ever against eating cares Lap me in soft Lydian airs; Married to immortal verse Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out; With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running; Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony."
Sometimes as a temptation; so Spenser says of Phaedria,
"And she, more sweet than any bird on bough Would oftentimes amongst them bear a part, And strive to passe (as she could well enough) Their native musicke by her skilful art."
"There is in Souls a sympathy with sounds; And as the mind is pitched, the ear is pleased With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touched within us, and the heart replies. How soft the music of those village bells, Falling at intervals upon the ear In cadence sweet, now dying all away, Now pealing loud again and louder still Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on." [9]
"The soul of music slumbers in the shell, Till waked and kindled by the master's spell, And feeling hearts--touch them but lightly--pour A thousand melodies unheard before." [10]
"I have sent books and music there, and all Those instruments with which high spirits call The future from its cradle, and the past Out of its grave, and make the present last In thoughts and joys which sleep, but cannot die, Folded within their own eternity." [11]