Not you, who have reason to weep and sigh!

Your prayers may help me, and bring me peace."

The hermit made him a sign to cease;

Then raised his head, and began to speak,

With tears on his wrinkled, sun-browned cheek.

"If you could remember even one

Good deed that you in your life have done,

I need not go in despair away.

Think well; and if you can find one, say!"

"Once," said the mountebank, "that was all,

I did for the Lord a service small,

And never yet have I told the tale!

But if you wish it, I will not fail.

A few of our men had gone one day—

'T was less for plunder, I think, than play—

To a certain convent, small and poor,

Where a dozen sisters lived secure

For very poverty! dreaming not

That any envied their humble lot.

There, finding the door was locked and barred,

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