Now as this man had died while at his work, Even while blowing a _Magnificat_ All in the holy church, it was adjudged That he almost deserved to be a saint. And he who preached the sermon over him Said that “his soul had risen on the notes Of the grand anthem which he had inspired, And having reached the Music all divine Had softly sunk, as light is lost in light, Into the pure Celestial.” Here he stopped. Men were great preachers in the olden time. It happened that a certain Giannolo, _Facchino Bergamasco_, or a man From Bergamo, a porter by his trade, Who carried heavy burdens, yet withal Was not o’erburdened with a load of wit, Hearing this sermon, got it in his head— And no great wonder either—that the late Departed bellows-blower must have been The Chief Musician of the Holy House; And knowing that the man who bloweth up A pair of bagpipes also is the one Who plays upon the same—drew inference That the deceased was the true organist, And he who played thereon his humble aid, Who only worked to keep the tune in time. Now being smitten with a deep desire To rise in life and also to be called A Child of Art—with a nice salary— And have a sermon preached o’er him when dead, Giannolo unto the Bishop went, And made a great entreaty to be placed Among the holy followers of Saint Mark, And that the aim of his ambition was _Alzare i mantici quando suonava_ _gli organi_—that’s to say: “To lift the bellows when the organ played.” And as he was a stout and lusty knave Who might be useful in a hundred ways, They gladly took him on, so there he stayed Blowing the bellows faithfully in time. I ween there is not in all Italy A man—unless he came from Bergamo— Who could have blown an organ seven years In the full faith that he was playing it, And was indeed the real organist. Yet this, in fact, unless the legend lies, Was what befell Giannolo. By this time, Having laid by a very handsome sum, And being well attired though modestly, As is becoming to a Son of Art, He went a-visiting his native place, Where all who were related unto him— That is to say about one-half the town— Did greatly marvel at his handsome clothes And at his air of stately dignity, But most of all when he informed them that He was no more a porter: he had felt Immortal longings in him to arise Above that vulgar calling, and to soar “’Mid palpitations sweet and pleasures soft, The manifestations of that beauteous life Diffused unseen throughout eternal Space” Which men call Music; and that he had risen Even to a monthly salary of ten francs, Wherewith were many pleasing perquisites; And that he played the organ in Saint Mark’s, As all the world allowed, in perfect time.