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But I have never yet made out more than sounds which faded away in the murmur of night, of words inarticulate as the bubbling of the rivers. "Seekest thou to know the gods, O Macareus! and from what source men, animals, and the elements of the universal fire have their origin?
Like Maurice de Guerin, Chopin perpetually strove to decipher Beauty's enigma and passionately demanded of the sphinx that defies: "Upon the shores of what oceans have they rolled the stone that hides them, O Macareus?" His name was as the stroke of a bell to the Romancists; he remained aloof from them though in a sympathetic attitude. The classic is but the Romantic dead, said an acute critic.
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