seen standing with a lute upon his arm. He continued his
song, yet saluted the king, as he turned his eyes towards him, with a
profound, bow. His voice was remarkably fine, and the song of a nature
strange and wonderful. He sang the origin of the world, the stars,
plants, animals, and men, the all-powerful sympathy of nature; the
remote age of gold, and its rulers Love and Poesy; the appearance of
hatred and barbarism, and their battles with these beneficient
goddesses; and finally, the future triumph of the latter, the end of
affliction, the renovation of nature, and the return of an eternal
golden age. Even, the old minstrels, wrapped in ecstasy, drew nearer to
the singular stranger. A charm, they had never before felt, seized all
listeners, and the king was carried away in feeling, as upon a tide
from Heaven. Such music had never before been heard. All thought that a
heavenly being had appeared among them; and especially so, because the
young man appeared, during his song, continually to grow more beautiful
and resplendent, and his voice more powerful. The gentle wind played
with his golden locks. The lute in his hands seemed inspired, and
it was as if his intoxicated gaze pierced into a secret world. The
child-like innocence and simplicity of his face appeared to all
transcendant. Now the glorious strain was finished. The elder poets
pressed the young man to their bosoms with tears of joy. A silent
inward exultation shot through the whole assembly. The king, filled
with emotion, approached him. The young man threw himself reverently at
his feet. The king raised him up, embraced him, and bade him ask for
any gift. Then, with glowing cheeks he prayed the king to listen to
another song, and to decide as to his request. The king stepped a few
paces back, and the young stranger began:--

Through many a rugged, thorny pass,
With tattered robe, the minstrel wends;
He toils through flood and deep morass,
Yet none a helping hand extends.
Now lone and pathless, overflows
With bitter plaint his wearied heart;
Trembling beneath his lute he goes,
And vanquished by a deeper smart.

There is to me a mournful lot,
Deserted quite I wander here;--
Delight and peace to all I brought,
But yet to share them none are near.
To human life, and everything
That mortals have, I lent a bliss;
Yet all, with slender offering
My heart's becoming claim dismiss.

They calmly let me take my