He gazed and listened mutely, fondly, letting the flood of immortal life
penetrate to his heart's core. Never had the sacred music of a great
master--an Offertory of Haydn, a Te Deum of Mozart--produced in him the
emotion caused now by the simple chimes of the distant village churches,
as they greeted the rising of the sun into the heavens. His soul swelled
and overflowed with unspeakable emotion. Some vision, vague but sublime,
hovered over him like a rippling veil through which gleamed the
splendour of the mysterious treasure of ultimate felicity. Up till now,
he had always known exactly what he wished for, and had never found any
pleasure in desiring vainly. Now, he could not have named his desire,
but he had no doubts that the thing wished for was infinitely sweet,
since the very act of wishing was bliss. The words of the Chimera in
'The King of Cyprus'--old world, half-forgotten verses, recurred to him
with all the force of a caressing appeal--
'Would'st thou fight?
Would'st kill? would'st thou behold rivers of blood?
Great heaps of gold? white herds of captive women?
Slaves? other, and far other spoils? Would'st thou
Bid marble breathe? Would'st thou set up a temple?
Would'st fashion an immortal hymn? Would'st (hearken,
Hearken, O youth, hearken!)--would'st thou divinely
Love?'
He smiled faintly to himself.
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