And Abbots Wygmore and Staunton went
And Horton sped the embellishment.
But not till years had far progressed
Chanced it that, one day, much impressed,
Standing within the well-graced aisle,
He asked who first conceived the style;
And some decrepit sage detailed
How, when invention nought availed,
The cloud-cast waters in their whim
Came down, and gave the hint to him
Who struck each arc, and made each mould;
And how the abbot would not hold
As sole begetter him who applied
Forms the Almighty sent as guide;
And how the master lost renown,
And wore in death no artist’s crown.
—Then Horton, who in inner thought
Had more perceptions than he taught,
Replied: “Nay; art can but transmute;
Invention is not absolute;