His story told—the all-entrancing joy
His skill could give,—but well the rogue concealed
The piercing thorns that flourish, unrevealed,
Along the artist's path—the poverty, the strife
Of study, and the weary waste of life—
All these, the drawback of his wily tale,
The little artist covered with a veil.
Young Damon listened, and his heart beat high—
But now a cunning archer gained his eye—
And stealing close, he whispered in his ear,