He could not play; it was vain to try!

His face grew sober, his movements slow;

And, soon as might be, he closed the show.

He saw that the hermit lingered on,

When all the rest of the crowd were gone.

Then over his gaudy clothes he drew

A ragged mantle of faded hue;

And he himself was the first to speak:

"Good Father, is it for me you seek?"

"My son, I have sought you all the day;

Would you come with me a little way,

Into some quiet corner near,

Where no one our words can overhear?"

Not far away, in a lonely street,

By a garden wall they found a seat.

It now was late, and the sun had set,

Though a golden glory lingered yet,

And the moon looked pale in it overhead.

They sat them down, and the hermit said:

"My son, to me was a vision sent,

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