When, faint with journeying, we sate
Within a wayside hostel-gate
To rest us in Bohemia.
XIII.
In rusty garb, but with an air
Of grace, that hunger could not whelm,
He told his wants, and—“Could we spare
Aught of the current of the realm—
A shilling?”—which I gave; and so
Came talk, and Blanche’s kindly smile;