Poems (Laflin)/Memories of an Old Piano

by Ellen P. Laflin

MEMORIES OF AN OLD PIANO.

AH! my friends, you see me here,
Standing in a corner drear,
In the prison of my case;
You stop and gaze upon my face.

Some pitying look, some scornfully,
Some pass without a glance at me;
Are there among you those to-day
Who have listened to Beethoven play?

While I my soul have felt expand
Beneath the touch of the Master's hand;
To you could I tell of tales which thrilled,
Were not my voice forever stilled!

In the salon of a Viennese
For years did I stand in light and ease,
While the Master struggled, alone and poor,
Till Fortune paused before his door.

And one night the great musician
Led, as though by intuition,
To the house in which I stood,
To the villa near the wood.

There were gathered young and old,
Many were the tales they told;
But hark! at once through the evening air
There floats a strain of music rare.

Outside in the silence of the night,
The Master paused in the pale moonlight,
The silver rays softening the lines of care
And reflecting the silver of his hair.

Within the house he came, and played
Melody, in heaven made.
Ah! ye who look on from afar,
You have seen the waning of my star.

But well may you look again on me
E'en though I stand here silently,
For first upon my strings did echo
Some chords sublime—long years ago.

Here I remember the years that are past,
Here am I patient to the last;
Ah! stranger, pause and shed a tear
For the memories that are buried here.

Near a century have my strings been rust,
Near a century the Master's hand is dust;
But though his life now ended be,
His genius lives immortally.