Part 7 — WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED

HE has conn’d the lesson now; He has read the book of pain: There are furrows on his brow; I must make it smooth again. Lo! I knock the spurs away; Lo! I loosen belt and brand; Hark! I hear the courser neigh For his stall in Fairy-land. Bring the cap, and bring the vest; Buckle on his sandal shoon; Fetch his memory from the chest In the treasury of the moon. I have taught him to be wise For a little maiden’s sake;— Lo! he opens his glad eyes. Softly, slowly: Minstrel, wake!