Tuned to a rustic harp, deluding hosts
With tales of how he lived by minstrelsy:
Yet never rested longer than the night,
But with the dawn departed, ere the birds
Woke to their song, and man from healing sleep
To his laborious struggle with the earth;
Silent he slipped from them, that none might know
The path he travelled, and next night would lie
On some lone upland underneath the stars.
While, as he wandered, drawing close to me,