Woodville had been pleased, and he threw in some small silver coin, more than equal to all that the rest had given; and, resuming her place by the old man's side, she whispered a word in his ear, upon which he immediately struck his instrument again, and she began another ditty in honour, it would appear, of her generous auditor:--
SONG.
The bark is at the shore,
The wind is in the sail,
Fear not the tempest's roar,
There's fortune in the gale;
For the true heart and kind,
Its recompence shall find,
Shall win praise,
And golden days,
And live in many a tale.
Oh, go'st thou far or nigh,