She began with an English slumber song,
'Sleep, Baby, Sleep'--one of Barry Cornwall's, I think,--and then sang
a love-song with the refrain, 'Love once again'; but no thrills came to
me, and I began to wonder if her spell over me was broken. Geordie, who
had been listening somewhat indifferently, encouraged me, however, by
saying, 'She's just pittin' aff time with thae feckless sangs; man,
there's nae grup till them.' But when, after a few minutes' pause,
she began 'My Ain Fireside,' Geordie gave a sigh of satisfaction. 'Ay,
that's somethin' like,' and when she finished the first verse he gave me
a dig in the ribs with his elbow that took my breath away, saying in a
whisper, 'Man, hear till yon, wull ye?' And again I found the spell
upon me. It was not the voice after all, but the great soul behind that
thrilled and compelled. She was seeing, feeling, living what she sang,
and her voice showed us her heart. The cosy fireside, with its bonnie,
blithe blink, where no care could abide, but only peace and love, was
vividly present to her, and as she sang we saw it too.
Pages:
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110