. The Old Road . OF THE EOAD It was as thougli a shaft of influence had risen enormous abovethe shrine: the last of all the emanations which the sacred citycast outwards just as its sanctity died. That tower was yetnew when the commissioners came riding in, guarded by terrorall around them, to destroy, perhaps to burn, the poor materialsof worship in the great choir below: it was the last thingin England which the true Gothic spirit made. It signifiesthe history of the three centuries during which Canterburydrew towards it all Europe. But it stands quite silent andemptied of every meaning, tra
. The Old Road . OF THE EOAD It was as thougli a shaft of influence had risen enormous abovethe shrine: the last of all the emanations which the sacred citycast outwards just as its sanctity died. That tower was yetnew when the commissioners came riding in, guarded by terrorall around them, to destroy, perhaps to burn, the poor materialsof worship in the great choir below: it was the last thingin England which the true Gothic spirit made. It signifiesthe history of the three centuries during which Canterburydrew towards it all Europe. But it stands quite silent andemptied of every meaning, tragic and blind against the chang-ing life of the sky and those activities of light that never failor die as do all things intimate and our own, even religions. Ireceived its sUence for an hour, but without comfort and with-out response. It seemed only an awful and fitting terminal tothat long way I had come. It sounded the note of aU my road—the droning voice of extreme, incalculable age. As I had so fixed the d
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