Music! wake thy heavenly numbers, Queen of every moving measure, When at thy voice all sorrow slumber, Sweetest source of purest pleasure! [Joseph Warton: _Ode to Music_, lines 1-2: Queen of every moving measure, Sweetest source of purest pleasure,] Who listens to thy varying strains, Will find their bosoms gently sooth'd, Lulled to repose all cares and pains, And waked to sympathy and love, That calms with soft persuasive air The heart to harmony and peace. If any grief yet linger there, But touch thy chords and it will cease. Who does not feel their bosoms glow, When the full choir their voices raise, To the Supreme of all below, Pour forth their song of ardent praise? Each heart by sacred impulse driven, To high exalt his glorious name, Loud hallelujahs raise to heaven, And with one voice His praise proclaim. Then music, queen of every art, O still thy matchless powers employ; Since none like thee can peace impart, And none like thee awaken joy. [Ode to Music, lines 3-4: Music! why thy powers employ Only for the sons of Joy?] CHAPTER XXI. 'Tis true indeed, there's danger in delay, Then let us speed, and hasten far away; For what of fear, or what of doubts molest, When deep affection reigns within the breast. Several weeks now passed away without any material occurrence, and the season of the year came round when the winter's snow was passing from the face of nature, succeeded by heavy showers of rain, and the days had become more pleasant, because they were something longer. The air was more salubrious, and invited the citizens to inhale its healthful draught without their dwellings, where they had been several months in a manner shut up from the inclemencies of the cold season. One morning after the family had taken breakfast, they sat talking over late events and recent occurrences that had varied so materially within the last three months. In this conversation, they were unmindful of the hour, until Mr. Bolton, without ceremony, (as was his custom,) entered the breakfast parlour. After the usual salutations to her parents, and conversing some time with his aunt, he addressed Alida with his native pleasantry, relating to her some stories of the satirical order as the current news of the city. He afterwards informed her of the conversation between himself and her father, and in what manner the latter had replied. Alida remained silent, with her eyes fixed upon the floor, as if revolving in her mind what to say.