CHAPTER XIII.
In the restless vexation of his present humour, it came into his head to go and see the old harper; hoping by his music to scare away the evil spirits that tormented him. On asking for the man, he was directed to a mean public-house, in a remote corner of the little town; and, having mounted up-stairs there to the very garret, his ear caught the fine twanging of the harp coming from a little room before him. They were heart-moving, mournful tones, accompanied by a sad and dreary singing. Wilhelm glided to the door; and as the good old man was performing a sort of voluntary, the few stanzas of which, sometimes chanted, sometimes in recitative, were repeated more than once, our friend succeeded, after listening for awhile, in gathering nearly this:
"Who never ate his bread with tears,
Through nights of grief who, weeping, never
Sat on his bed, midst pangs and fears.
Can, heavenly powers, not know you ever.
"Ye lead us forth into this life.
Where comfort soon by guilt is banished,
Abandon us to tortures, strife;
For on this earth all guilt is punished."
—Editor's Version.
The heart-sick, plaintive sound of this lament pierced deep into the soul of the hearer. It seemed to him as
