Every pinnacle of fretwork, every station of advantage amongst
the traceries, was crested by white-robed choristers that sang
deliverance; that wept no more tears, as once their fathers had wept;
but at intervals that sang together to the generations, saying,
"Chant the deliverer's praise in every tongue,"
and receiving answers from afar,
"Such as once in heaven and earth were sung."
And of their chanting was no end; of our headlong pace was neither
pause nor slackening.
Thus as we ran like torrents--thus as we swept with bridal rapture over
the Campo Santo [Footnote: "_Campo Santo_":--It is probable that
most of my readers will be acquainted with the history of the Campo
Santo (or cemetery) at Pisa, composed of earth brought from Jerusalem
from a bed of sanctity as the highest prize which the noble piety of
crusaders could ask or imagine. To readers who are unacquainted with
England, or who (being English) are yet unacquainted with the cathedral
cities of England, it may be right to mention that the graves within-
side the cathedrals often form a flat pavement over which carriages and
horses _might_ run; and perhaps a boyish remembrance of one
particular cathedral, across which I had seen passengers walk and
burdens carried, as about two centuries back they were through the
middle of St. Paul's in London, may have assisted my dream.
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