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Show THE LAST REQUIEM.-There is something strikingly beautiful and touching in the circumstances of Mozart's death. His sweetest song was the last he sung, "Requiem." He had been employed upon this exquisite piece for several weeks, his soul filled with inspirations of richest melody. After giving the touch, and breathing into it that undying spirit of song which was to consecrate it through all time, he fell into a gentle and quiet slumber. At length the light footsteps of his daughter awoke him. "Come hither, my Emilie," said he, "my task is done; the Requiem-my Requiem, is finished." "Say not so, dear father," said the gentle girl, "you must be better; even now your cheek has a glow upon it." "Do not deceive yourself, my love," said the dying father; "this wasted form can never be restored by human aid. Take these, my last notes, sit down by my piano here and sing them with the hymns of thy sainted mother; let me once more hear those tones which have so long been my solace and delight." Emilie obeyed with a voice enriched by the tenderest emotion; then turning from the instrument, looked in silence for the approving smile of her father. It was the still, passionless smile which the wrapt and joyless spirit had left, with the seal of death upon his features. |