midnight
The peal of an organ with rich swell awoke the mute air , lingering along , and mingling with the intense beauty that clothed the rocks and woods , and waves around . Music -- the language of the immortals , disclosed to us as testimony of their existence -- music , `` silver key of the fountain of tears , '' child of love , soother of grief , inspirer of heroism and radiant thoughts , O music , in this our desolation , we had forgotten thee ! Nor pipe at eve cheered us , nor harmony of voice , nor linked thrill of string ; thou camest upon us now , like the revealing of other forms of being ; and transported as we had been by the loveliness of nature , fancying that we beheld the abode of spirits , now we might well imagine that we heard their melodious communings . We paused in such awe as would seize on a pale votarist , visiting some holy shrine at midnight ; if she beheld animated and smiling , the image which she worshipped . We all stood mute ; many knelt . In a few minutes however , we were recalled to human wonder and sympathy by a familiar strain . The air was Haydn 's `` New-Created World , '' and , old and drooping as humanity had become , the world yet fresh as at creation 's day , might still be worthily celebrated by such an hymn of praise .