And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild, And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out.

Ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize.

Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony.

Towered cities please us then, And the busy hum of men.

Who the hell wants to hear actors talk?

In the closing scene of Wagner's Lohengrin, Slezak had sung his Farewell, and was about to make his departure in the boat drawn by a swan. The boat moved away …

I have not played the cello in front of an audience since long years but I think I must do it this time. I am going to play a melody from the Catalonian folklo…