The Continental Monthly, Vol. IV. October, 1863, No. IV. | Page 9

sway us? Where did we learn that language without words? in
what consists its mystic affinities with our spirits? Why does the harp
of David soothe the insanity of Saul? Is not its festal voice too
triumphant to be the accompaniment of our own sad, fallen being; its
breath of sorrow too divine to be the echo of our petty cares? All other
arts arise from the facts of our earthly existence, but Music has no
external archetype, and refuses to submit her ethereal soul to our
curious analysis. _'I am so, because so I am,'_ is the only answer she
gives to the queries of materialism. Like the primitive rock, the
skeleton of earth's burning heart, she looms up through the base of our
existence. Addressing herself to some mystic faculty born before
thought or language, she lulls the suffering baby into its first sleep,
using perhaps the primeval and universal language of the race. For the

love which receives the New Born, cadences the monotonous chant;
and human sympathies are felt by the innocent and confiding infant
before his eyes are opened fully upon the light, before his tongue can
syllable a word, his ear detect their divisions, or his mind divine their
significations. But Music looms not only through the base of our being;
like the encompassing sky, her arch spans our horizon. Lo! is it not the
language through which the Angels convey the secrets of their
profound adoration to the Heart of God!
'Having every one of them harps'--'and they sung a new song'--in which
are to join 'every creature which is in heaven, and on the earth, and
under the earth, and such as are in the sea'--'and the number of them
was ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands.'
(Revelation, chap, v.)
* * * * *
While Angelo linked the fiery tones in rhythmed laws, Zophiel
sketched with glowing pen the joys of virtue, the glories of the intellect,
and the pleasures, pains, raptures, woes, and loves of the heart. The
deeds of heroes were sung in Epic; Dramas, Elegies, and Lyrics
syllabled the inner life; men listened to the ennobling strains, and
became freemen as they heard. The intermingling flow of high thought
and melodious measures elevated and soothed the soul, and love for,
and faith in, humanity, were awakened and nourished by the true Poet.
Jemschid wrought with brush and pencil, until the canvas imaged his
loved skies and mountains, glowed with the noble deeds of men, and
pictured that spiritual force which strangely characterizes and mingles
with the ethereal grace of woman's fragile form.
Through the artists, life grew into loveliness, for all was idealized, and
the scattered and hidden beauties of the universe were brought to light.
The plan of creation is far too vast to be embraced in its complex unity
by the finite: it is the province of art to divide, condense, concentrate,
reunite, and rearrange the vast materials in smaller frames, but the new
work must always be a whole. Angelo aroused and excited the
emotions of the soul, which Zophiel analyzed and described in words

most eloquent; while Jemschid made clearer to his brethren that Beauty
of creation which is an ever visible proof of the love of God. His
portraits illumined the walls of the bereaved, keeping fresh for them the
images of the loved and lost. Historical pictures enlarged the mind of
his people, keeping before it the high deeds of its children and
stimulating to noble prowess. His landscapes warmed the dingy city
homes, bringing even there the blue sky, the clouds, the streams, the
forests, the mountains, moss, and flowers.
Men became happier and better, for the Brothers, in showing the
universal Beauty, awakened the universal Love.
For the true essence of man, made in the image of God, is also Love!
* * * * *
The artists turned not from the rose-cheek of the maiden, nor refused
the touch of the ruby lip; but they loved her too well to sully by one
wronging thought the tender confidence of perfect innocence, or cause
her guileless heart a single pang. For womanhood was holy in their
sight!
Among earth's purest maidens shone a fair Lily, whose virgin leaves
had all grown toward the sky; whose cup of snow had never been filled
save by the dews of heaven; whose tall circlet of golden stamens
seemed more like altar lamps arranged to light a sanctuary, than meant
to warm and brighten the heart of human love. But the devotion of a
noble heart is a holy thing; Genius is full of magic power, and the
maiden did not always remain insensible to the love of Angelo, for he
was spiritually beautiful, and when he moved in the world of his