Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MOONLIGHT SONATA: ALICE'S STORY. PART I, by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MOONLIGHT SONATA: ALICE'S STORY. PART I, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The firelight softly glanced upon
Last Line: And then her teacher smiled.
Subject(s): Children; Girls; Story-telling; Childhood


The firelight softly glanced upon
Dark braids and sunny curls,
Where, in a many-windowed room,
Yet dim with late November gloom,
Were busy groups of girls.

Some sat apart to learn alone;
Some studied side by side;
Some gathered round a master's chair
In reverent silence; others there
For readiest answer tried.

For one young name a summons came,
And Alice quickly rose:
The rapid pen aside is laid;
The call once heard must be obeyed
At once, -- as well she knows.

Yet with no joyous step or smile
She hastens now away,
A teacher's earnest look to meet,
Whose hand is filled with music sweet,
As hers shall be one day.

Beside her at the instrument
A place her teacher takes,
With patient eye, yet keenest ear;
And Alice knows that he will hear
The slightest fault she makes.

Oh, such a music-task as this
Was never hers before!
So long and hard, so strange and stern, --
A piece she thinks she cannot learn,
Though practised o'er and o'er.

It is not beautiful to her, --
She cannot grasp the whole:
The master's thought was great and deep, --
A mighty storm, to seize and sweep
The wind-harp of the soul.

She only plays it note by note,
With undeveloped heart;
She does not glimpse the splendor through
Each chord, so difficult and new,
Of veiled and varied art.

Unwonted beat and weird repeat
She cannot understand;
She stumbles on with clouded brow, --
Her cheek is flushed, and aching now
The weary little hand.

She looked up in her teacher's face;
Tears were not far away:
"Must I go on till it is done?
Oh, let me change it, sir, for one
That I can better play.

"I cannot make it beautiful, --
It has no tune to sing;
And when I am at home, I fear
My friends will never care to hear
This long and dreary thing."

He said, "If you might freely choose,
My child, what would you learn?"
"Oh, I would have the 'Shower of Pearls,'
Or 'Soldiers March,' like other girls,
And quick approval earn;

"Or sweet Italian melodies,
With brilliant run and shake;
If you would only give me such,
I think that I could please you much, --
Such progress I should make."

"Learn this, and it will please me more,"
Said he, with kindest voice:
"And though 'tis now so hard to play,
Trust me, you will be glad some day
That I have ruled your choice."

Tears trembled on the lash, and now
His face she could not see;
Once more she pleaded, as they fell,
"But I shall never play it well:
It is too hard for me!"

"One thing I grant," he said; "that you
May fully, freely tell
Your father, who is kind and wise:
And, Alice, what he shall advise,
Say, will it not be well?"

Again she came, and stumblingly
The hard sonata played:
Another week had passed away,
With toilsome practice every day,
Yet small the progress made.

Her father's writing, bold and clear,
Lay on the instrument:
"Your letter safely came to me,
And now shall answer lovingly
To my dear child be sent.

"The hardest gained is best retained;
You learn not for to-day:
I cannot grant your fond request;
Your teacher certainly knows best, --
So trust him and obey."

The teacher spoke; she listened well,
No word of his to miss:
"Alice, I want to make of you
An artist, noble, high, and true;
And no light thing is this.

"There's happier, better work in store
Than merry tunes to play:
You have a mission to fulfill, --
You do not know it; but I will
Prepare you as I may.

"Will you believe that I know best,
And persevere, my child?"
She answered, with a little sigh,
"Yes: I will trust, and I will try;"
And then her teacher smiled.





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