Where should this music be?

Where should this music be? i' th' air or th' earth?

It sounds no more;--and sure it waits upon

Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank,

Weeping again the king my father's wrack,

This music crept by me upon the waters,

Allaying both their fury and my passion,

With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it,--

Or it hath drawn me rather,--but 'tis gone.

No, it begins again.