Then strove again young Horant, and never on any day,
Had his knightly song been better. Sick and well together
All lost their wits in hearing, and none could leave who to listen once came hither.
[389]
The wild beasts in the forest let their pasture grow;
The little worms that creeping through grass are wont to go,
The fishes, too, that ever amidst the waves were swimming,
All now stopped to listen; the singer’s heart with pride was overbrimming.
[390]
Whatever he might sing to them, to no one seemed it long;