"The reed bewailed departed bliss and present woe: "Plucked untimely from my native banks, my heart is torn, that through me may sound the notes that charm the grave and gay. Who that hears my strains knows the secret of my bleeding heart?" Not fruitless was the pain of the reed that made it melodious. And thou, brave heart, arise. Be free of every chain, though blazing with gold. Be nobly bold. Follow the true bride of thy life, though her name be Sorrow. Let the shell perish, that the pearl may appear. Men may not know the secret of thy sad life, but through a bruised heart must be breathed the strain of love and hope which shall enrapture human souls."