[Music: MARQUESAN TAPRIATA. (Dance.) A. S. M. _Andante_ Piano _ff_ _mf_ Drum effects
I’d sooner be a pagan in this hut, Wherein the singing spheres creep thro’ my door, And dance and dance upon my bedroom floor, As ’tween the sheets I watch with eyes unshut, And on my bed-rail, wailing o’er the din, A gnat plays on its tiny violin!
I’m wrapt in some fine madness of a sense That robes me with the magic of those things That lend imagination lyric-wings, Imparadising all my dreams intense. ’Twill fade away, I know, and once again I shall half-weep—to find I am quite sane!
Alas! I’ve worshipped stricken things called “Men”; I’ve travelled down their groves and found their light Hid magic splendours of the glorious night Of things unseen. And now?—clear to my ken, The sad old trees are whispering on the wind The harmonies that _maestros_ seek to find!
Last night those old trees said: “Oh, brother, stay! That song you played just now we seem to know, We heard it sung a million years ago!” I said “It’s mine!” They sighed. I passed away; And even the flowers along the lonely track Said: “Poor, brief thing with feet and weary back.”
’Twas then the River, old and full of tears, Stopped by the hills and called, inquired of me— “Comrade, is this the right way to the sea?” I kissed its breast, I soothed its wandering fears As on we tramped; then, at the close of day, It said “Good-bye, old friend,” and crept away.
And now?—a beauteous melody I hear, As constellations tumbling from the skies, Are dancing on the floor before my eyes; Nor do I dream at all, for, sitting near, A gnat plays perfectly the sweeping strain That Man’s ambitious mind strives for—in vain!
I could cry out in spite to think for years I’ve sought applause, played to sad men and kings, To find, at last, the universe, of all things, Lo, hires a gnat to make the starry spheres Trip to and fro, go gaily o’er and o’er In perfect time across my bedroom floor!
And still they dance and dance, and still the trees Sigh grand _adagios_ as that _maestro_ Sits on my bed-rail sweeping from its bow The music of the grand infinite seas, Till ’neath the sheets I hide my head for shame To think, alas, a gnat achieves such fame!
After leaving O Le Tao I came across a kind of South Sea Mozart. He was a young Samoan of about fourteen years. He possessed a cheap German fiddle, and on its frayed strings extemporized melodies of the weirdest beauty.