“Where is the man who is to touch the keys?
What is the use of making music, hey—
And filling up the thing with melody,
As I have come to do, unless there be
Some one to click the bones and let it out?
You don’t suppose that I can raise the wind,
And steer, and sail the ship as well, my friends.
Such things were ne’er beheld at any time.”
There was an instant’s silence—deep and strange;
In all the great cathedral rang no sound.