Chapter 170 MELODIES UNHEARD.

Musicians wrestle everywhere:

All day, among the crowded air,

I hear the silver strife;

And - waking long before the dawn -

Such transport breaks upon the town

I think it that "new life!"

It is not bird, it has no nest;

Nor band, in brass and scarlet dressed,

Nor tambourine, nor man;

It is not hymn from pulpit read, -