On sobbing sands the fisher left his net,
His lamb the shepherd on the hills of March,
Suing for song. With wrinkled face all smiles,
Like that blind Scian upon Grecian shores,
If God the song accorded, Ceadmon sang;
If God denied it, after musings deep
He answered, “I am of the kine and dumb”;—
The man revered his art, and fraudful song
Esteemed as fraudful coin.
Music denied,