Your soul, so thrill’d! to test its energies:
Then Gluck your master was; you follow’d him,
And far beyond your own, as then you deem’d,
Flowed forth the full perfection of his chords.
Now men see Gluck behind you. Yet, e’en now,
Before you still, sweet chords allure you on.
Ah, friend, Gluck only happen’d in the path
That open’d then beyond you. But those chords?—
Those you can reach not, Haydn, till you reach
The choirs of heaven!