Still we walk'd on, in thoughtful mood, And now upon the bridge we stood. Full of sweet breathings was the air, Of sudden stirs and pauses fair. Down o'er the stately bridge the breeze 65 Came rustling from the garden-trees And on the sparkling waters play'd; Light-plashing waves an answer made, And mimic boats their haven near'd. Beyond, the Abbey-towers° appear'd, °70 By mist and chimneys unconfined, Free to the sweep of light and wind; While through their earth-moor'd nave below Another breath of wind doth blow, Sound as of wandering breeze--but sound 75 In laws by human artists bound.
"The world of music°!" I exclaimed:-- °77 "This breeze that rustles by, that famed Abbey recall it! what a sphere Large and profound, hath genius here! 80 The inspired musician what a range, What power of passion, wealth of change Some source of feeling he must choose And its lock'd fount of beauty use, And through the stream of music tell 85 Its else unutterable spell; To choose it rightly is his part, And press into its inmost heart.
"_Miserere Domine°!_ °89 The words are utter'd, and they flee. 90 Deep is their penitential moan, Mighty their pathos, but 'tis gone. They have declared the spirit's sore Sore load, and words can do no more. Beethoven takes them then--those two 95 Poor, bounded words--and makes them new; Infinite makes them, makes them young; Transplants them to another tongue, Where they can now, without constraint, Pour all the soul of their complaint, 100 And roll adown a channel large The wealth divine they have in charge. Page after page of music turn, And still they live and still they burn, Eternal, passion-fraught, and free-- 105 _Miserere Domine°!"_ °106
Onward we moved, and reach'd the Ride° °107 Where gaily flows the human tide. Afar, in rest the cattle lay; We heard, afar, faint music play; 110 But agitated, brisk, and near, Men, with their stream of life, were here. Some hang upon the rails, and some On foot behind them go and come. This through the Ride upon his steed 115 Goes slowly by, and this at speed. The young, the happy, and the fair, The old, the sad, the worn, were there; Some vacant,° and some musing went, And some in talk and merriment. 120 Nods, smiles, and greetings, and farewells! And now and then, perhaps, there swells A sigh, a tear--but in the throng All changes fast, and hies° along. °124 Hies, ah, from whence, what native ground? 125 And to what goal, what ending, bound? "Behold, at last the poet's sphere! But who," I said, "suffices here?