years old at the time.
The next ten years of the life of the "Goliath of Music," as he has
been called, are marked by some of the most splendid achievements of
his genius. "Samson," the "Dettingen Te Deum," "Joseph," "Belshazzar,"
"The Occasional Oratorio," "Judas Maccabeus," "Joshua," "Solomon,"
and, "Theodora," being composed by him during this time, when, already
an old man, it might have been thought that he would have taken some
repose after the labors of so toilsome and troubled a life. But,
oak-like, he was one of those who mature late; like Milton, his
greatest works were those of his old age.
But a terrible misfortune was approaching--his eyesight was failing.
The "drop serene," of which Milton speaks so pathetically, had fallen
on his eyes, and at the time when, in February, 1752, he was composing
his last work, "Jephtha" (the one containing "Deeper and Deeper
Still," and "Waft her, Angels"), the effort in tracing the lines is,
in the original MS., very painfully apparent. Soon afterward he
submitted to three operations, but they were in vain, and henceforth
all was to be dark to him. His sole remaining work was now to
improvise on the organ, and to play at performances of his oratorios.
There is a pathetic story told of an incident that occurred on one
occasion, when "Samson" was given. While the magnificent air,
Total eclipse! no sun, no moon!
All dark, amidst the blaze of noon.
O glorious light! no cheering ray
To glad my eyes with welcome day.
Why thus deprived thy prime decree?
Sun, moon, and stars are dark to me--
was being sung by Beard, the tenor, the blind old man, seated at the
organ, was seen to tremble and grow pale, and then, when he was led
forward to the audience to receive their applause, tears were in the
eyes of nearly everyone present at the sight. It was like the scene
that is described in Beethoven's life on the occasion of that
composer's appearance, when almost totally deaf, to conduct his great
Choral Symphony at Vienna.
One night, on returning home from a performance of the "Messiah" at
Covent Garden, Handel was seized with sudden weakness and retired
hurriedly to bed, from which he was never to rise again. He prayed
that he might breathe his last on Good Friday, "in hope of meeting his
God, his sweet Lord and Saviour on the day of his resurrection." And
strangely enough his wish was granted, for on Good Friday, April 13,
1759, he quietly passed away from this
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