"Alexander. 'When will you finish Campaspe?'
Apelles. 'Never finish: for always in absolute
beauty there is somewhat above art.'"
LYLY'S Campaspe.

And now, what song should I sing to unveil my Isis, if indeed she was
present unseen? I hurried away to the white hall of Phantasy, heedless
of the innumerable forms of beauty that crowded my way: these might
cross my eyes, but the unseen filled my brain. I wandered long, up and
down the silent space: no songs came. My soul was not still enough for
songs. Only in the silence and darkness of the soul's night, do those
stars of the inward firmament sink to its lower surface from the singing
realms beyond, and shine upon the conscious spirit. Here all effort was
unavailing. If they came not, they could not be found.

Next night, it was just the same. I walked through the red glimmer of
the silent hall; but lonely as there I walked, as lonely trod my soul
up and down the halls of the brain. At last I entered one of the
statue-halls. The dance had just commenced, and I was delighted to find
that I was free of their assembly. I walked on till I came to the sacred
corner. There I found the pedestal just as I had left it, with the faint
glimmer as of white feet still resting on the dead black. As soon as I
saw it, I seemed to feel a presence which longed to become visible; and,
as it were, called to me to gift it with self-manifestation, that it
might shine on me. The power of song came to me. But the moment my
voice, though I sang low and soft, stirred the air of the hall, the
dancers started; the quick interweaving crowd shook, lost its form,
divided; each figure sprang to its pedestal, and stood, a self-evolving
life no more, but a rigid, life-like, marble shape, with the whole form
composed into the expression of a single state or act. Silence rolled
like a spiritual thunder through the grand space. My song had ceased,
scared at its own influences.