square, tree-chequered, that lay before their inn. Miguel had procured a
lute from the innkeeper, and he strummed idly as these two debated
together of great matters; about them was an immeasurable twilight,
moonless, but tempered by many stars, and everywhere they could hear an
agreeable whispering of leaves.

"Listen, my Prince," the boy said: "here is one view of the affair."
And he began to chant, without rhyming, without raising his voice above
the pitch of talk, while the lute monotonously accompanied his chanting.

Sang Miguel:

"Passeth a little while, and Irus the beggar and
Menephtah the high king are at sorry unison, and
Guenevere is a skull. Multitudinously we tread
toward oblivion, as ants hasten toward sugar, and
presently Time cometh with his broom. Multitudinously
we tread a dusty road toward oblivion; but
yonder the sun shines upon a grass-plot, converting it
into an emerald; and I am aweary of the trodden path.

"Vine-crowned is the fair peril that guards the
grasses yonder, and her breasts are naked. 'Vanity
of Vanities!' saith the beloved. But she whom I love
seems very far away to-night, though I might be with
her if I would. And she may not aid me now, for not
even love is all-powerful. She is most dear of created
women, and very wise, but she may never understand
that at any time one grows aweary of the trodden path.